


Perennial

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Galra Keith/Altean Shiro, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Selkies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Connected AUs, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Injury, M/M, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Sickfic, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: Keith and Shiro find each other in every life. (A series of connected AUs)1. Shiro will do whatever it takes to promote peace between his nation and Keith's. Even if that means staying quiet about the way the prince makes his heart ignite with the power of a thousand suns.2. Shiro doesn’t have a soulmate anymore, but he finds the next best thing in a boy in his astrobiology course.3. Selkies are never safe, not when Hunters are near. Keith breaks Shiro out of the laboratory facility he was taken to, but Keith is captured in the process. Shiro needs to go back for Keith, but he can’t when his ability to take his human form has been stolen away.4. Keith takes care of Shiro after he escapes from a Fire Nation prison, his arm irreparably burned. Hoping to take down the Fire Lord, they search for a new way for Shiro to bend the elements, confronting Shiro's fear of fire along the way.5. A Galra rebel breaks Shiro out of prison, asking for his help in shutting down a weapon that threatens the lives of the entire planet Princess Allura rests on. Shiro's Altean heritage will allow him to destroy the crystal that powers it, but not without a cost.





	1. Aurum

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hypermnesia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704297) by [ardett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett). 



> For the VLD Fanfic Remix 2017 event! I've been so, so lucky to have the opportunity to remix Ardett's Hypermnesia. It's such a beautiful fic - go read it! I absolutely love the premise. My remix is from Shiro's perspective, and I've played around with and built on the AUs - basically, it's a series of AUs of AUs.
> 
> I've never written an AU before, but I've discovered that I love them. I've been having so much fun with these! I got a little carried away, so it's gonna be multi-chaptered. (They won't all be as long as this first one, though.) 
> 
> Huge thanks to Ardett for the opportunity to remix such an amazing fic, and also to Melonbugg and Oldmythos for organizing such a fun event!
> 
> Hope you enjoy! More coming soon. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro will do whatever it takes to promote peace between his nation and Keith's. Even if that means staying quiet about the way the prince makes his heart ignite with the power of a thousand suns.

It’s been three years since Shiro first saw the sun. It was in the eyes of a taciturn, sullen boy. Harsh, surly, and quick-tempered, Shiro can’t wait to see him again _._

Three long months have passed since Shiro’s last visit to the Land of Flame; three long months of wishing he were there instead of trapped under the Ice Kingdom’s pale sky. He’s felt so useless here. He understands why Queen Allura and Prince Lance hadn’t wanted him to go—he had been ill; and the journey there was arduous, even travelling by snow gryphon; and it was the harsh climate of the Land of Flame that had made him sick in the first place. Still, he hadn’t liked it. What good was he as an envoy if he couldn’t travel?

But now, finally, Shiro has his chance. Allura and Lance need their envoy to arrange an important summit meeting with the Flame King and Prince.

“You’re certain you’ll be alright on your own?” Allura asks, absently stroking the black snow gryphon’s beak as Shiro prepares the saddle. Allura’s silver brows are knotted with concern.

“Of course,” Shiro assures his Queen. “I’ve made the journey dozens of times before, and I’m fully recovered, thanks to Hunk’s medicine. Besides, I’ll have Black with me.” The snow gryphon purrs as he ruffles her sleek feathers. Snow gryphons are the protectors of the Ice Kingdom, and Black is the strongest of them all.

“Alright. Lance and I will see you in a few days,” Allura nods. As her head tips forward, light filtering through crystal pillars bounces off her diadem, casting rainbows at their feet. There is beauty to be found in the Ice Kingdom, for sure, but Shiro’s ready to face the sun again.

“Be safe, my envoy,” Allura says.

Shiro nods and gives her a smile as Black flaps her powerful, crimson-tipped wings. And then he’s off, away from the frost and biting cold, southbound to the Land of Flame.

He’s excited to be useful again, excited to continue working toward an alliance between the two kingdoms. It’s sorely needed; relations are shaky at best.

Three years ago, when the Dark Empire invaded the Ice Kingdom, the Land of Flame stood by and did nothing. Shiro had accompanied Allura and Lance to plead with the Land of Flame for help, but they were refused. The King said it was too risky to take on the Empire. The Flame were complacent as the Empire slaughtered millions of Ice citizens; as they laid waste to the Kingdom; as the Emperor murdered the Ice King, making orphans of Allura and Lance.

Were it not for Keith, Shiro’s not sure Allura would ever have been able to forgive the Flame, let alone try to forge an alliance with them. But Allura had witnessed the Flame Prince’s anger, the rage boiling in his veins, when his father had refused to help. She had seen the royal blood that dotted the edges of his gilded nails as he clenched his fists in fury, heard the ferocity in his voice when he insisted they send aid. When Keith’s words didn’t sway his father, he tried to go with them to the Ice Kingdom to fight the Empire himself. Palace guards prevented the Prince from actually leaving, but Allura had seen that at least some in the Land of Flame were willing to stand up and fight for what was right.

Shiro remembers that first visit to the Land of Flame well. His emotions at the time had been so _wrong_. He should have been upset, appalled, grieving for his country, but instead, his blood had sung with _excitement_. His heart had caught in his throat, his breath stolen away, and his bones had ignited with something wonderful.

While Allura and Lance haven’t been to the Land of Flame since then, Shiro’s visited many times, after convincing Allura to let him continue visiting as an envoy to the Ice Kingdom. He’s made frustratingly little progress in the past three years, but it hasn’t stopped him from trying. He’ll do whatever it takes to promote peace between the two nations. (The promise of seeing Keith helps, too.)

Shiro’s not sure how this summit will go, and he doesn’t particularly want to think about it. He’ll deal with it when the time comes. Until then, he’ll keep the subject tucked away in the recesses of his mind and let himself enjoy the time he has with Keith.

The sun burns hotter as they fly further and further south. The journey never gets easier. “Just a little further,” he reassures Black, stroking her fur as she mewls. The snow gryphon doesn’t fare well in the heat—no one from the Ice Kingdom does. Shiro’s willing to put up with the harmful rays and scorching temperatures, but it’s still far from pleasant.

It’s difficult to breathe in the muggy, humid air. Sweat soaks his skin, damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to his body. He’s starting to feel the effects of sun sickness, lightheaded and a bit nauseated, but it’s nothing like before. He’ll endure.

He can’t afford to use up the small amount of medicine he has, not yet. It’s derived from lilies found only in the Land of Flame. Unable to get past the border guards on foot, Pidge had had to sneak over the border with her snow gryphon to get them. It’s just one more reason they need this alliance.

The red and gold sand dunes in the distance begin to blur together. The humidity gets even worse as they fly over the river weaving through the northern half of the kingdom, the lifeblood of the Land of Flame. Shiro’s one-handed grip on Black’s reins is staring to slip. He trusts Black will keep him safe.

Shiro’s absolutely exhausted by the time the glimmering palace comes into view, but a surge of energy courses through him as he spots the Flame Prince perched on the rooftop. He can pass out later.

He nearly falls off the saddle as Black makes a rough landing—she’s tired too—but he manages to stay on and retain some modicum of grace, dismounting of his own volition. He leads her to her stall in the open stable, where she sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the crimson desert horses. She’s at ease; she’s at home here.

“Great job, Black. Thank you,” he murmurs, stroking her feathers. She croons.

“Shiro!” His heart leaps at the familiar voice.

Keith runs to him. He’s dressed in silks—white, black, and red—and he wears a bright smile. The Flame Prince all but tackles him, throwing his arms around him and enveloping him in warmth. Shiro slides his arm around Keith’s shoulders and returns the embrace as best he can.

“Keith,” he murmurs. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Took you long enough,” Keith chides, though his voice is fond. “I missed you.”

Black bumps Keith with her beak. “I missed _both_ of you,” he amends. He pets the huge snow gryphon without a hint of hesitation, eliciting a pleased purr. She adores Keith, and Keith adores her just as much. He handles her with ease, able to fly her like he was born for the skies.

Keith surveys Shiro after giving Black a few scritches. “You look dead on your feet. Let’s get inside,” he says, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the marble steps of the palace.

Keith takes the next hour to fuss over Shiro, making sure he gets enough to drink and eat. He gives him a chance to wash up, providing him with fine silk clothing so he can get out of his heavy, grimy travel clothes. There’s a wrinkle in Keith’s brow that doesn’t go away until he’s sure Shiro’s good and comfortable. It’s more than a little endearing.

Eventually, Keith leads him up to the rooftop. Shiro sits down on Keith’s right, quietly hoping Keith’s gold-tipped fingers will find his.

“It’s been three months. What took you so long?” The concern in Keith’s voice isn’t completely unwarranted. The last time Shiro had been away for this long, he’d come back to Keith missing an arm.

“Minor illness. Nothing serious,” Shiro assures him.

Keith frowns, seeing through him like always.

“Okay, it wasn’t good. But it was nothing like before _.”_ Shiro’s eyes automatically flicker to where his right arm used to be.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” Keith says, a quiet intensity in his voice. “It’s… hard when you’re away. I missed you. A lot.”

“Me too,” Shiro admits quietly. “More than you know.”

Keith reaches for Shiro’s hand, just like he’d hoped for. The sun pulses through his veins. Warmth spreads from Shiro’s fingertips to light up every nerve in his body.

Keith’s dark eyes are fixated on their intertwined hands, studying them intently with that focused gaze of his. His golden fingernails gleam in the sunlight. They’ve always been gilded, just like his father’s. Shiro’s nails look bare in comparison.

Evidently, Keith thinks the same. “Shiro… would you let me paint your nails gold?” He says it tentatively, quietly, in a way that tells Shiro it’s okay to say no.

Keith knows Shiro’s been sensitive about his hands—or lack thereof—ever since the disease that had taken his right arm. Keith was similarly cautious the first time he’d interlaced Shiro’s remaining fingers in his after it had happened. But Keith would never hurt him.

“I’d like that,” Shiro says with a smile.

Keith’s eyes brighten, and he gives his hand a squeeze. He pulls Shiro to his feet and leads him back inside to his room.

Shiro settles down on a heavily embellished settee while Keith goes to retrieve the gold paint. His eyes trace the veins of the marble floor, which lead to a golden crown and royal crest inlaid at the centre of the room. Diamonds set into the marble twinkle. It’s more than a little excessive. Shiro is definitely out of place here, with nothing but common blood running through his veins.

Keith returns to him with a small, ornate chest. It’s one of the most beautiful objects Shiro’s ever seen, covered in gold accents. There are flames carved up the sides, and fish dance around its borders. A flower that looks like a carnation embellishes its centre. Keith opens it up to reveal an equally ornate bottle filled with liquid gold.

Keith applies the aureate paint with intense precision, careful not to leave a single sliver of nail bare. He licks his lips slightly as he concentrates. A blush creeps into Shiro’s cheeks, and he needs to focus on something—anything—else.

“Oh, right,” he remembers. “I forgot to tell you the reason for my visit in the first place.” Everything in his head had scattered the moment he’d laid eyes on Keith.

“You mean it wasn’t just to see me?” A smile plays on Keith’s lips.

Shiro smiles. _If only._ “I also need to arrange for an audience. Queen Allura and Prince Lance would like to meet with you and your father.”

Keith pauses what he’s doing, looking up and raising a dark eyebrow. “I thought they hated it here.”

Shiro bites back a grimace. It’s true. The climate alone is hard enough to bear. Lance had taken to it especially poorly, complaining the entire time they were here and then some. With the tension between nations on top of that… He hopes Lance will be okay.

“The Ice Kingdom desperately needs an alliance. We’re struggling to produce enough food, and our rations are depleted,” Shiro tells him. “People are going to starve. Lance and Allura might not love it here, but they’ll do what they have to in order to help the kingdom.”

“Yeah,” Keith nods, going back to painting Shiro’s nails. “Well, it’ll be a good time for them to come anyway. I’ll talk to my father. I’ll make sure they have an audience. Go ahead and send the message back to them with Black.”

Shiro’s silently glad he doesn’t have to speak with the King himself. It’s still difficult to face him, even though he’s been doing this for years, and his requests are often refused. “Thanks, Keith.”

“You should get some rest after the gold sets, too,” Keith urges. “You look exhausted.”

Shiro is tired, but he’s suffered worse. He shrugs. “Hold still!” Keith chastises, scowling at him.

Shiro laughs. “Alright, alright.” He does as he’s told until Keith finishes with his fastidious application of the gold polish.

“There,” Keith says, his stubborn frown quickly replaced by a bright smile. He’s positively beaming, proud of his handiwork. “It suits you.”

Shiro holds his hand out, admiring the way his nails now match Keith’s. He almost looks like royalty. “I like it.”

“Good,” Keith says, standing up. “Okay. I’m gonna go talk to my father. Seriously, go sleep,” he commands in that gentle-yet-firm tone he favours.

“As you wish, your highness,” Shiro says with a mock bow.

Keith gives him a playful shove, but then his touch turns tender. His fingertips graze Shiro’s jawline, tilting his face to look at him. Keith’s lips quirk upward into a soft smirk. “See you in the morning.”

Shiro’s heart stutters, his brain unable to string together a sentence before Keith leaves the room.

Tired as he is, Shiro doubts he’ll be able to sleep tonight. Not when his heart is about to supernova and his nerves tingle with the energy of a thousand suns.

If only this could last.

…

Shiro and Keith spend the next day almost entirely on the rooftop, exchanging stories of Ice and Flame.

Keith’s never been outside the Land of Flame and is eager to hear about life elsewhere. Shiro does his best to describe every inch of his birthplace to him. It’s far from the first time Shiro’s told him about it, but Keith never seems to tire of hearing more.

Shiro paints him a mental picture of the glittering skyscrapers that refracted light throughout the capital. He tells him of the massive bridges that arched over chasms and sea ice, connecting cities to one another in a vast web. He tells him of the bright lights that illuminated the streets when the sun set at night. The Ice Kingdom had been beautiful.

Keith’s eyes, dark pools of indigo, shine with excitement as he drinks in each detail. They shine with something else when he remembers Shiro speaks in the past tense.

In turn, Keith tells Shiro stories from his childhood. He tells him about sneaking out of the palace to explore the sand dunes in the south, hunting for treasure, and the time he nearly drowned trying to swim up the river to the north. He never really got to spend much time with his father, but he cherishes the few times the King took him up to the rooftop and showed him how to connect the stars.

When night falls, Keith shows Shiro his constellations. The twin fish are his favourite. They trace new ones together: a lion, a seal, a flower, a flame.

(Keith is less than impressed by Shiro’s eight-legged bear, but it elicits a laugh, so Shiro’s proud of it all the same.)

Shiro falls asleep against Keith’s shoulder, and it’s the best sleep he’s had since the invasion.

Every moment they spend together will make it that much harder when Shiro has to leave, but he can’t resist Keith’s pull. He will always be in his orbit, tidally locked, forever looking to the sun.

…

Allura and Lance arrive a few days later on the back of the royal blue snow gryphon the two of them share. The half-siblings are arrestingly beautiful, dressed to the nines in silver and cerulean and frost white. Despite their usually regal composure, they wear twin expressions of worry.

Shiro accompanies them in nervous silence to the outdoor conference area. It’s spacious and extravagant, just like inside the walls of the palace, all white marble and gold.

“You alright?” Shiro whispers to Allura as they walk in.

“Of course,” she says tightly, though her shoulders are noticeably tense.

This can’t be easy, to face the Flame King again. Allura’s pleas had fallen upon deaf ears three years ago, unable to convince him to help her kingdom, and Allura still blames herself for her failure.

“The Land of Flame needs this alliance too,” Shiro reassures her. “It’ll be fine. I promise.” Her rigid posture relaxes ever so slightly at his words. He counts that as a win.

They take their seats at the large table in the centre. “Lance? How’re you holding up?” Shiro asks, nudging the prince.

“Peachy,” Lance utters, though he looks like he might be sick.

“You can do this.” Shiro gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Lance settles at the touch. “Yeah. Thanks, Shiro.”

Good. They’ll be alright. Now Shiro just has to make sure he can keep his own composure throughout the meeting.

The sun beats down even hotter overhead when Keith and his father arrive. The two sit down, and the summit begins.

Allura’s skill in diplomacy is unparalleled. Shiro will never cease to be impressed. Her voice is calm and controlled when she speaks, perfectly metered, articulate and well spoken. She’s able to swallow whatever fear or anger she might be feeling, and instead of getting hung up on what did or didn’t happen three years ago, she focuses on the here and now.

Allura says all the right words, masterful in her ability to convey the strength of the Ice Kingdom without denying its ravaged state, extolling the virtues of the Flame Kingdom without being obsequious. She’s upfront about how much the Ice Kingdom needs this alliance, but she’s profoundly persuasive in explaining how a trade agreement would be just as beneficial to the Land of Flame, if not more.

Among other things, the Ice Kingdom is considerably more advanced than the Land of Flame in terms of medicine and life-saving technology. Shiro knows that if he hadn’t had access to those, if he’d been a citizen of the Flame instead of Ice, he’d have lost a lot more than just his arm a year ago. The life expectancy in the Land of Flame is barely half that of the Ice Kingdom, and Shiro’s gut twists at the thought of how many deaths could easily have been prevented.

“You make a convincing argument, Queen Allura,” the King acknowledges, once she has said her piece. “I am in favour of the idea. But the real question is _how_ can we improve trust and goodwill between our nations? You are as aware as I am that the people of our respective kingdoms will not be so quick to accept an alliance.”

Most people in the Ice Kingdom have not forgiven the Land of Flame for denying them assistance as their brethren were slaughtered. In turn, people in the Land of Flame resent the Ice citizens for allowing their sick and injured to die, withholding medical treatments and technology from them as retribution.

Allura straightens her shoulders and makes her proposal.

Shiro knows what she says, but he doesn’t listen to the words. He’s concentrating too hard on keeping his expression neutral and avoiding eye contact. He can’t look at Allura or Lance—they know him too well, they’ll see right through him—and he absolutely _cannot_ make eye contact with Keith.

“Wait, _what_?” Keith interjects loudly, grabbing Shiro’s attention.

“Prince Lance is willing to marry into the Land of Flame,” Allura repeats. Her voice is gentle and melodious, but each syllable is like salt in his wounds. “A marriage would help to unite our countries.”

Shiro bites his tongue as he wills himself not to react. He can’t ruin this. They _need_ this alliance.

Lance isn’t thrilled about the plan as it is. He’ll go along with it because he knows how important this is for both countries, but if Lance knew the extent of Shiro’s feelings for Keith, he might reconsider. Lance cares too much about the feelings of others, sometimes too much to make the calls that need to be made.

Shiro’s gold-painted nails dig into his palm. _Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react._

The King’s brow lowers, scar crinkling. “Queen Allura. Prince Lance. Have you not heard? My son is already betrothed.”

A stinging coldness engulfs Shiro, and he can’t help it: he flinches.

Keith is betrothed. Why had he never said anything?

Shiro had only just been able to make peace with the idea of Keith marrying someone else because he’d known the union would bring stability to both kingdoms, and he’d known that, despite their conflicting personalities, Lance would treat Keith well. It had hurt, but Shiro had known it was for the best.

Shiro hadn’t prepared himself for _this_. Something awful threatens to creep up his throat, something jealous and bitter that he doesn’t know how to push down.

It’s not as if Shiro ever thought he actually stood a chance, but every glance, every touch, every time their hands intertwined, it felt like it had meant… _something_.

“Oh,” Lance says weakly, bringing Shiro back to his surroundings. “Okay.” The meeting comes to an abrupt end as the Ice Prince’s eyes roll back and he collapses.

…

Shiro waits in the foyer of the guest chambers, staring blankly at the wall. He’s worried for Lance more than anything, but his other emotions are dangerously close to the surface. He focuses on his breathing, deep and slow.

It’s a relief when Allura re-enters the foyer, returning from Lance’s room.

“He’s alright,” Allura reassures him before he opens his mouth to ask. “Sun sickness, but not too severe. I’ve given him the remainder of the Flame lily medicine Hunk formulated for you. With that, he should be fully recovered in a couple of days.”

Shiro smiles slightly. “Glad to hear it.”

“It seems Hunk has saved us yet again.” Her tone is light, but her shoulders are heavy. Her eyes are troubled as she looks out the window to where the air appears to shimmer above the sea of gold-flecked sand.

“What’s on your mind?” Shiro implores. He touches her shoulder, and her expression breaks.

“How could I have asked Lance to go through with such a thing?” she murmurs quietly. “I knew. I _knew_ how harmful the sun was here, and yet I asked him to stay. And _you_ , I’ve sent you here more times than I can count. You’ve nearly died twice because of it, and I sent you again all the same. What kind of a Queen knowingly sends her loved ones to die?”

“One who knows what’s best for her country,” Shiro replies gently. “Some risks are worth taking. Lance and I both know that. …And besides, I wanted to keep visiting. I can’t speak for Lance, but if I were in his position, I’d have been happy to stay.”

Her eyes are wide. “Even with the heat? Even with the radiation?”

He nods. “Even then.”

She casts him a grateful look for the reassurance, before her brows furrow slightly in thought. “Hold on a tick. If I’d asked you to marry into the Land of Flame instead of Lance…”

He swallows down the pang in his heart, carefully schooling his features into a neutral expression. He shrugs, casually as he can. “It doesn’t matter either way. Keith is already betrothed.”

Something must leak through—bitterness in his voice, or hurt in his eyes—because Allura’s eyes widen a fraction and her lips part slowly as a light goes on. “ _Oh._ You… Shiro, why did you not say anything before?”

His instinct is to backpedal, to feign ignorance, but he can’t lie. Not to Allura. “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he says at last. “It’s not like it could ever have happened. I’m just an envoy.”

She frowns. “You are not _just_ an envoy,” she insists. “You are a member of the Court; you are well loved and looked up to by everyone in the Kingdom; and we may not share blood, but you are family all the same.”

“Thanks, Allura.” The words are kind, and there’s comfort to be found in them. But to know that it might have been an option, that maybe if they’d acted sooner…

It’s a new sense of loss that fills him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

He gives her a sad smile. There’s nothing to be done about it now.

…

Shiro finds Keith in his usual spot on the roof. He’s still drawn to Keith like a moth, even if being around him worsens the ache in his chest. He can’t begrudge Keith for this. It’s not his fault that Shiro fell for him.

“How’s Prince Lance?” Keith asks as soon as he arrives.

“Sun sickness, but it’s pretty mild, and we still had some medication leftover. He’ll be fine.”

Keith frowns. “The sun can make people from the Ice Kingdom sick?”

“You mean it doesn’t here?”

“No,” Keith shakes his head. His eyes widen. “Wait. There was a heat wave when you last visited. Was that what made you sick?”

Almost certainly, but Shiro’s not going to tell him that. And he’s definitely not going to tell him it was likely exposure to the sun that cost him his right arm. So he says, “I’m not sure.”

Keith sees right through his half-truth. His eyes remain wide, and his jaw goes slightly slack.

“If you haven’t seen it before, people in the Land of Flame are probably resistant to the sun’s effects. No need to worry,” Shiro assures him.

Keith scowls, incredulous. “It’s _you_ I’m worried about!”

Shiro lifts the corners of his lips. “I’ll be fine. It’s worth it, if I get to see you.” The words slip out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. “—And everything else here. I like it here,” he adds, hoping it comes out more smoothly than it sounds in his head. “The sun won’t stop me from visiting. I’ll definitely come visit for your wedding.”

Keith gives him a flat stare. “You have the worst sense of humour.”

Shiro tries not to wince. “Sorry, I—I shouldn’t have assumed I’d be invited. It’s fine, of course—“

“Knock it off, or I’m gonna change my mind.”

Shiro narrows his eyes in confusion. “About… the wedding?”

Keith rolls his eyes and reaches for Shiro’s hand. “I’m kidding,” he says softly. “Nothing could change my mind. But… are _you_ sure?”

He’s definitely missing something. “Am I sure…”

“Why did you keep it from Queen Allura and Prince Lance?” Keith asks. His voice is tinged with hurt.

 “Keep what from them?” Shiro’s completely lost.

“ _This,”_ Keith says exasperatedly, holding up Shiro’s hand. He gestures to his nails. “You know, that we’re _getting married?”_

_…What?_

Shiro goes silent, in shock.

Keith pales. “…Oh,” he breathes. “You didn’t—“

“You mean… when you asked to paint my nails gold…” Shiro starts slowly.

“I… I thought you knew,” Keith says quietly. “The royal family has gilded nails. When we ask someone to paint their nails gold, we’re asking them to marry into the family.”

“Oh,” is all Shiro can manage to whisper, his brain still trying to process it all.

“I’m sorry I misinterpreted,” Keith says softly, not looking at Shiro. His dark eyes shine with sadness. He makes to leave. “I… I should go tell the others I’m not actually—“  

Shiro pulls him back and cuts him off with a kiss, raking his newly gold-tipped fingers through Keith’s dark hair. His lips are softer than he’d imagined.

Keith’s eyes go wide, and Shiro can feel his breath catch. Once Keith realizes what’s happening, he smiles against Shiro’s lips with all the power of the sun.

“…Just for the sake of clear communication,” Shiro says after they break apart, “That was a _yes_. I want to marry you.”

“Good,” Keith grins, grasping at Shiro’s hand again. Leaning against him, Keith’s shoulders shake with laughter. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. Some envoy you are.”

Shiro can’t help but laugh with him. “Maybe I’ll make a better prince.”

He does.


	2. Indelible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro doesn’t have a soulmate anymore, but he finds the next best thing in a boy he meets in his astrobiology course.

The dull roar of the seminar room hushes when Shiro walks in. Hairs prickle at the back of his neck as the other students’ eyes settle on him, fixating on his prosthetic arm or staring at his scarred face. They recognize Takashi Shirogane, poster child of the university turned basket case, _such a tragedy._ The eyes follow him; morbidly curious, wary, and filled with pity.

He focuses on keeping his head up and shoulders straight as he makes his way to the back corner of the room, taking a seat beside the one person in the room not noticeably gaping at him. The boy in the corner glances up for a moment when Shiro settles down next to him, and then it’s Shiro’s turn to stare.

There’s something achingly familiar about his eyes, large and dark like the night sky. But Shiro’s pretty sure he’d remember that face, and the boy doesn’t seem to recognize Shiro. Must just be déjà vu. It’s not the only thing that’s familiar.

Shiro’s been in this class many times before—same room, same prof. He’d first started the course two years ago. He’d been over halfway through when the lab he was working in had exploded, taking his arm and leaving Matt comatose.

After months and months of physical therapy, Shiro started the course again the following year. He hadn’t lasted more than a couple weeks, having to take medical leave after having a _second_ panic attack right in the middle of lecture.

But third time’s the charm, right? If it were any other elective, Shiro would be reluctant to take it again, especially with the same prof who’d witnessed his embarrassing episodes last year. But it’s astrobiology, which Matt had been so, so excited for, and Matt can’t take it right now. Shiro feels an obligation to finish the course on Matt’s behalf.

The course hasn’t changed at all in the past two years, and Shiro tunes out as Dr. Montgomery begins the lecture by reading the syllabus word for word. He focuses instead on the boy beside him. He’s hunched over his notebook, filling the margins of the page with doodles in heavy, jagged strokes of ink.

Shiro gets a better view of the notebook when the boy switches the pen from his left hand to his right to better reach the other side of the page. A slight pang of jealousy runs through Shiro as he wishes he’d been born ambidextrous. It’s a good thing he doesn’t need to take many notes.

The boy is not an artist by any means, but the scribbles are charming in their simplicity. A sun shines in the corner; stars and snowflakes dot the margins; flames lick the bottom of the page. Shiro particularly likes the little blobby fish that swim above the date. He also likes the animals chasing the fish that look vaguely like seals (though they could easily be dolphins, maybe sharks). The crudely drawn flowers, though, remind Shiro of a subject he doesn’t particularly like thinking about.

Soulmarks reveal a person’s soulmate, the person with whom they’ll share their deepest bond. The matching marks are symbolic, suggestive of the nature of the love they’ll share. That love can be romantic or platonic, but it will never fade. Soulmarks only disappear from someone’s skin when their soulmate dies.

Shiro had a soulmark, once—a whole one. A carnation and a lily, not unlike the ones scribbled in ink beside him. They had been woven together, their stems intertwined, snaking up his arm from the back of his right hand up to his shoulder.

In the language of flowers, the pink carnation meant, “I’ll never forget you.” The carnation was lost with his arm, and it’s not hard to see the symbolism there. The white lily was a symbol of purity. It’s a mess, now, distorted and blurred beyond recognition from the burns he’d suffered. The interpretation there is pretty clear too.

Shiro could never regret losing his arm while shielding Matt. It meant him getting out alive, even if he is still in a coma. He’d never regret it, but sometimes he can’t help a twinge of sadness from rising.

Shiro diverts his attention back to the lecture just in time to hear the professor give them a prompt to discuss in pairs: _where in the solar system should astronauts be looking for signs of life?_

Shiro turns to the boy beside him and puts on his best smile. “Hi. I’m Shiro,” he offers.

“Keith,” the boy responds. There’s something about his voice, too, that seems familiar.

“Have we… met before?” Shiro ventures.

Keith shrugs. “Maybe.” His abrupt tone says, _who cares?_ Any other person might find him rude, but Shiro finds the lack of attention being paid to him for once refreshing. 

“So, what do you think?” Shiro asks.

“About?”

“Looking for life in the solar system,” Shiro says, gesturing to where the question is scrawled in chalk at the front of the room.

Keith shrugs again. “I don’t really see the point,” he says blandly. “Seems like a waste of resources.”

Shiro’s brow creases slightly. “You don’t think there’s anything out there?”

“No,” Keith argues, “It’s a waste because it’s _obvious_ there’s life outside of Earth. Maybe not in our solar system, but it’s out there. Probabilities and all that.”

Shiro has to smile at that. “Fair enough.”

“Besides. Even if we did need evidence, why would we have to send people to get it? There are robots and stuff that can get ice samples or whatever.”

Shiro laughs. “You never dreamed of being an astronaut when you were younger?”

“I never said I didn’t,” Keith says. “But spending months out in space, just on the off chance you’ll find some bacteria or something? Sounds kinda...”

 _Exciting,_ Matt would have said. “Lonely?” Shiro guesses.

“Boring,” Keith says flatly.

Shiro’s lips quirk up. “I dunno. I don’t think it’d be so bad.”

When the lecture ends, Keith scoops up his notebook and takes off without a word. But the next class, Keith finds Shiro and takes the seat next to him. And the next class, and the class after that.

…

Shiro and Keith get to know each other as weeks go by, seeing each other every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. They start working on assignments together outside of class, too.

In late February, Shiro invites Keith to hang out completely outside of the context of astrobiology. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, so we’re having a little get-together. Really low-key, just my roommate and a couple friends. Hunk’s making a cake. You should come join.”  

He’s fully expecting to be rejected, and he’s sure “no thanks” is on the tip of Keith’s tongue, but instead, Keith asks what time and where. Shiro’s day gets that much brighter.

That afternoon, Shiro comes home to a mouth-watering aroma wafting through the apartment. Pidge, Hunk, and Lance are there. He sheds his coat and kicks off his snow-covered boots, joining them in the small living room.

When he mentions to them that he’s invited Keith, he almost regrets it.

“Oooh,” Pidge says slyly, leaning over backwards on the worn couch. “’ _Friend from class,_ ’ huh?”

“Ha, yeah, we’ve all had a _‘friend from class,’”_ Lance says with a smirk, index and middle fingers wagging up and down to mimic quotation marks.

“Spill. I want details,” Hunk calls from the kitchen as he checks on the cake in the oven.

“There’s nothing to spill,” Shiro says, rolling his eyes. “His name is Keith, and _yes_ , he’s a friend from class, no air quotes.”

Pidge snorts. “The grin you were wearing when you walked in says air quotes. You haven’t invited anyone over since I moved in, and that was like, a year and a half ago.”

It’s hard to believe Pidge has been in Matt’s room now longer than Matt ever was. She was barely fifteen when she hacked the enrolment system to get into Garrison University, utterly convinced the institution was covering something up about the lab accident. She’s still searching for clues.

Shiro doesn’t know what she’s hoping to find. Even if it had been faulty equipment at the lab, Shiro should have checked before starting it up. He should have recognized something was wrong. He should have protected Matt better, gotten him out of the way sooner—

“Earth to Shiro,” Pidge interrupts before his thoughts spiral further, giving him a knowing look. “Tell us more about Keith. Does he have a soulmark?”

“…I thought you didn’t care about soulmarks,” Shiro manages.

“I don’t. I’m just trying to distract you,” she shrugs, honest as ever.

Pidge has helped him so much in his recovery. Pidge and her best friends, Hunk and Lance, who are at the apartment so often they practically live here. They’ve become Shiro’s best friends, too.

“What’s he like?” Lance asks. “Is he attractive? What’s his sign? Ooh, he better not be Gemini or Sagittarius. They’re not compatible at all with Pisces.”

“What’s his favourite colour? What kind of music is he into? Favourite animal? Where does he stand on the pineapple-on-pizza debate?” Hunk shouts from the kitchen. He really doesn’t need to yell. It’s a small apartment.

 Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose. “Guys. You’ll meet him soon enough. Please don’t be as weird about it as you’re being right now.”

 “Oh, oh, we need to come up with a good shovel talk!” Lance exclaims, bouncing with excitement.

“Yeah. Something graphic,” Pidge grins viciously.

“Ooh, yeah, or maybe something ominous?” Hunk suggests. He clears his throat. “ _If you hurt him, dot dot dot…”_

Shiro sighs. They are definitely going to be weird about it.

…

They are totally weird about it. The evening of February 29th, Hunk, Pidge, and Lance bombard Keith with a slew of questions. Keith isn’t very forthcoming with answers, which prompts further pestering, especially on Lance’s part. They make awkward insinuations and give their shovel talk, though Keith is more confused than anything. Strange as the dynamic is, the tone is amicable, and the evening ends up being a lot of fun.

The cake is delicious, perfectly fluffy and moist, with rainbow sprinkles mixed into the batter to make a better version of Shiro’s favourite boxed cake mix. Keith enjoys it too, winning Hunk over when he asks for a second slice.

After they’ve devoured the cake, Keith offers to help clean up. Shiro finally catches a glimpse of Keith’s right hand when he takes off the fingerless gloves he always wears to wash the dishes.

There’s nothing there. Just pale, unblemished skin. It’s not like Shiro was expecting to see a soulmark, let alone a bright pink carnation, but disappointment bubbles up all the same.

Keith isn’t his soulmate, but Shiro’s heart still thuds in his chest when Keith hands him a hastily wrapped present and says with a small, private smile, “Happy Birthday, Shiro.”

Shiro tears off the wrapping paper to find a stuffed animal. More specifically, a stuffed micro-animal. “A tardigrade!” he exclaims, surprised and delighted.

It brings him back to late nights at Altea Coffee House, the café across the street run by an eccentric hipster with tight pants and a bright orange moustache. Keith and Shiro had chosen tardigrades as their topic for the paper they’d partnered up for, both inexplicably drawn to the strange creatures. It wasn’t supposed to be a long assignment, but Shiro and Keith had spent many long nights working on it, constantly getting sidetracked.

Shiro would make up ridiculous stories about the tardigrades (they survived everything the universe could throw at them, until one day their planet turned to acid—what would they do then?); Keith would roll his eyes, but he’d feed into it (maybe they relocated to a nearby moon, or something).  

“It’s hideous,” Keith smirks.

“He’s adorable. Don’t be rude,” Shiro defends. “His name is Baujal and I love him.” That earns Shiro a snort of laughter. He grins. “Thanks, Keith.”

Keith looks into Shiro’s room as Shiro brings Baujal to his new home on his bed. He wanders over to the shelf by the window, drawn to a single bottle of gold polish. It’s one of the few non-essential items in Shiro’s otherwise spartan room.

“Honestly, I’m not sure why I even bought that,” Shiro admits as he sets the plush tardigrade down next to his pillow. “I saw it and it just kind of… called to me.”

Shiro’s aware of how strange that sounds, and he’s self-conscious as the words leave his lips, but Keith nods, at least feigning understanding.

“I’ve never actually used it. It’s, ah, not exactly easy to paint my nails,” he says, gesturing to his prosthetic arm.

“Do you want me to paint them for you?” Keith offers.  

Nobody’s ever done that for him before. Shiro considers and smiles. “I do.”

…

Keith comes over regularly after that. The five of them become fast friends, despite their very different personalities. By the end of the term, they’re inseparable.

They go camping when summer rolls around. It’s Keith’s idea, to celebrate Shiro finally finishing his third year (and with a 4.0 GPA, no less). They take Lance’s beat up old mini-van. It’s ancient, and its blue paint is chipped around every edge, but it still functions.

Lance isn’t exactly a smooth driver, and the sharp turns and steep cliffs make for motion sickness and a lot of screaming. Everyone is relieved when they make it safely to the campsite.

The campground is beautiful. Shiro loves it out here, and judging by the contented expression on Keith’s face, Keith does too. The forest is quiet, nothing louder than rustling branches, singing birds, and the cricket orchestra. Spruce and hemlock and pine trees shoot up into the clouds, imbuing the fresh air with the most delightful aroma.

The tranquility of the forest is constantly interrupted, though, as Lance complains about the lack of amenities (couldn’t they have gone glamping instead?), Hunk worries constantly about bears (is that a bear? What about that? Is that one now?), and Pidge gripes about every aspect of the camping experience in general (how, exactly, is depriving oneself of technology and basic comforts supposed to be fun?).

They all seem content, however, once night falls and they’re cozily gathered around a campfire. Shiro feels at ease around the flames, comfortable and warm, sitting cross-legged next to Keith.

The stars are beautiful out here, so bright and defined away from the city. Shiro points out all the constellations he knows. Lance seizes the opportunity to bring up astrological signs, giving Shiro the least subtle wink possible when Keith says he’s a Scorpio.

Hunk breaks out the marshmallows and they make s’mores. Hunk’s face is contorted in a permanent grimace as he watches Shiro burn every single marshmallow he’s given, eventually grabbing the stick from his hand and doing it for him.

After they’ve finished licking their gooey fingers clean, Lance leans forward with an eager grin. “Okay, guys. Let’s go around in a circle and talk about our soulmarks.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Soulmarks again?”

“C’mon! It’ll be a _bonding moment_. I can start,” Lance offers.

“We already know what yours and Hunk’s are. You guys talk about them, like, 24/7,” Pidge grouses. It’s true; they bring up their matching soulmarks every chance they get. Even now, Lance is flexing his sandaled foot, drawing attention to the elegant yellow rose adorning it.

Shiro recognizes the yellow rose as a symbol of joy and friendship. Try as he might, he can’t unlearn the language of flowers.

“Okay, so, someone else go,” Hunk urges.

Pidge sighs. “Okay, fine.” She lifts the hem of her shirt, revealing a spray of flowers on her ribcage. “It’s a forsythia.”

“Anticipation,” Shiro supplies quietly. He’s seen Pidge’s soulmark before. Matt has the same one.

“Yup,” Pidge shrugs. “Who’s next?”

All eyes turn to Shiro and Keith, waiting for one of them to share. Keith looks distinctly uncomfortable, absently rubbing at the back of his gloved hand. Shiro doesn’t particularly want to talk about his soulmark, but he’ll do it if it’ll break the ice for Keith.

“Okay. My—Most of my soulmark was lost with my arm,” Shiro starts. It’s never easy to talk about the explosion, and his voice is shakier than he would like it to be. Keith subtly gives him a gentle nudge, reassuring.

Shiro takes a steady breath. “There used to be a pink carnation on the back of my right hand. It was supposed to mean, ‘I’ll never forget you,’ but, well…” He lets out a laugh. It comes out more bitterly than he intended.

He rolls up his right sleeve, revealing the messy remains of his soulmark. “This is all that’s left. …It used to be a white lily. Purity.”

A heavy silence settles over the campfire.

“It’s fine,” Shiro says, putting on a smile, looking at no-one. “Probably for the best, really. I wouldn’t want a soulmate to have to deal with—”

“Whoa, hey, just because your soulmark’s not all there anymore doesn’t mean you don’t have a soulmate,” Lance interrupts. 

“Yeah,” Hunk nods. “There’s probably someone out there with a pink carnation on their right hand. Soulmarks don’t fade unless your soulmate dies, right?”

“No.” Keith’s voice is quiet. He’s gone stock-still. “Your soulmate’s mark has faded. But you can still see it if you look closely enough.”

Keith pushes up his sleeve, holding up his arm to Shiro. When Shiro looks closely, and only when he looks closely, he can see the faintest outline of a stem snaking around Keith’s arm, less visible than the veins under his skin. Following Shiro’s eyes down his arm, Keith pulls off his glove.

Shiro takes Keith’s hand and holds it up so he can see. Just barely, he can make out the ghost of a pink carnation. Keith pushes his sleeve up further, revealing a matching mess of a white lily.

Blood thrums in Shiro’s ears, nothing but silence sitting between them as they take in the revelation. The other three are silent, giving them space. Keith’s hand stays in Shiro’s.

“I thought you’d died,” Keith murmurs, voice thick. “I thought I was meant to be alone. …Looks like I was wrong.” 

“You know, this doesn’t mean you have to—“

Keith cuts him off. “I know. This,” he says, gesturing to the mark, “doesn’t change a thing. It just confirms what I already know. I want to be with you.”

Shiro’s lips part in wonder.

“Don’t look so surprised. I have for a long time,” Keith says. “Ever since that tardigrade project.”

“I—really?”

Keith gives him a wry smile. “You had me at, ‘ _and then a bunch of giant flying robot lions save the day.’_ ”

Shiro laughs, his heart soaring. “You actually remembered that.”

Keith’s smile is soft and genuine. “I could never forget.”


	3. Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selkies are never safe, not when Hunters are near. Keith breaks Shiro out of the laboratory facility he was taken to, but Keith is captured in the process. Shiro needs to go back for Keith, but he can’t when his ability to take his human form has been stolen away.

Shiro and Keith had been together for as long as Shiro can remember. Shifting between their seal and human forms, they would ride the tides and explore the depths of the ocean; they would walk along the shore and connect the dots in the night sky. They had never needed much, just the sea and the stars and each other. They were never meant to be apart.

Shiro hasn’t seen the sea or the stars or Keith in months. Years, maybe. He doesn’t know how much time has passed since he was captured by the Hunters. Cut off from the sky, there’s no way of keeping track. There are no windows in the laboratory facility he’s being held in. No sun, no moon, just artificial lighting that’s glaring and harsh and yet perpetually dim.

It’s hard to remember anything beyond the confines of the small glass tank. He doesn’t know what the Hunters want with him, what they hope to gain by experimenting on a selkie. Maybe they’re trying to discover the secret of his shapeshifting ability; maybe they’re interested in his longevity; maybe they’re just afraid of not knowing what a creature like him can do. Whatever the reason, it’s obvious they don’t plan on letting him go. He can barely remember the taste of the ocean.

Day in and day out, he undergoes experiments, each more invasive than the last. His body carries reminders of what he’s been through: his skin is scarred and battered and streaked with white; his right flipper is shredded; and somehow, they’ve trapped him in his sealskin, leaving him unable to return to his human form. Still, Shiro endures. He’s resilient. Day by day, he gets by.

It’s not until the lead Hunter pries inside his head, wires and electricity invading his thoughts and memories, that Shiro breaks.

He misses the ocean. He misses the stars. He misses _Keith_.

He sheds seven tears, and Keith finds him.

Shiro’s head is still a mess from whatever the Hunters were doing, but amidst the chaos of his mind, he registers that Keith is here. He’s come for him. Keith stands before him in his beautiful human form, dark sealskin draped around his lean hips. His eyes blaze, but when his gaze meets Shiro’s, his expression softens and he gives him a tender smile, one meant only for him. He murmurs something gentle, telling him it’s going to be okay.

Everything around him is a blur, and Shiro only catches bits and pieces of what’s happening. Time is fragmented. He’s in his tank one moment; the next, he’s in a conduit that will take them back to the ocean. The details of how are lost to Shiro, but it doesn’t matter. They’re going home.

But something feels wrong. Something’s missing. Keith… Keith isn’t beside him. He’s not in front of him either, or behind, or below.

There’s shouting and the sounds of a scuffle, and when Shiro looks up, Keith is being dragged away by the Hunters.

“Keith!”

“Go!” Keith shouts. “You have to get out of here!”

He has to help, he has to go back, but he can’t. The ledge is too high, and he can’t use the ladder to climb out of the water. He can’t help Keith, not while he’s trapped in his seal form. The revelation tears him apart.

“I’m so sorry,” Shiro chokes out, tongue leaden and slow. He can’t even promise that he’ll be back for him, not with the Hunters there. “I love you,” he says instead, but Keith has already been taken away.

It’s hard to leave. Everything feels heavy, despite being hollow inside. Shiro drags himself through the conduit system back to the ocean, swimming clumsily through narrow channels. His body scrapes roughly against the sides, vision hazy and unable to steer properly with his damaged flipper.

When he reaches the mouth, he falls into the sea. He hits the water’s surface with a heavy _smack_ that reverberates through his bones, bruising half his body.

The ocean is less kind than he remembers, dark and empty. The salt stings; the water is cold.

Under the stars, Shiro sheds seven more tears. This time, Keith doesn’t come.

…

When his head is clearer, Shiro returns to the waters surrounding the facility, swallowing down his fear of being recaptured by the Hunters. He can’t get back in through the conduit, so he circles the structure, seeking another way in. He searches and searches, but it soon becomes apparent there’s no way for him to rescue Keith while confined to this form. There’s nothing he can do.

Days go by, and nothing changes.

Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months.

It’s hard to swim with his damaged right flipper, harder still to catch fish to eat. His tattered sealskin doesn’t keep him warm anymore. He barely sleeps, awful memories and constant worry for Keith keeping him up at night. It’s a harsh, lonely existence.

The seasons continue to shift. Eventually, the faint points of Pisces become visible in the night sky. And then, at long last, when the twin fish swim among the stars, Neptune grants Shiro the strength to return to his human form.

On unsteady legs, Shiro makes his way across the rocky shore. It takes a while to adjust to walking again after so long, and by the time he’s made it to the gates of the facility he was held in, the sun peeks over the horizon.

His limbs shake with exertion as he scales the tall gate. With no small effort, he manages to push himself over, but his effort is for nothing. He quickly finds the building is an impenetrable fortress.

There are no windows in the entire facility. Every door is made of thick industrial steel, requiring a fingerprint scan and a passcode to get inside. There’s some kind of alarm system in place, too, just in case someone actually was able to force their way through. The security measures all look relatively new—probably installed after Keith broke in.

There’s no way of breaking into the building now. There’s only one way in.

Shiro shifts to his seal form and returns to the waters outside the facility. When the sun begins its descent, he allows himself to be recaptured by the Hunters.

Panic strikes him as soon as the net snares him. He can’t move. He’s hauled out of the water, rough hands stirring up dreadful memories. There’s only one pair of hands Shiro wants to be touched by, and he’d give anything to feel that touch right now.

His heart races in erratic rhythms as he’s brought inside the building. The concrete walls, the dim lights, the harsh smell of antiseptic, it’s all too much. There’s a cart in the hallway loaded with surgical tools, and he can’t—he can’t—

The sight of a different cart brings him back, this one brimming with white lilies. Delicate and pure and incongruous with this awful place, there’s something almost familiar about the flowers. The peculiar sense of nostalgia anchors him.

He can do this. He needs to stay focused, stay present. Keith is counting on him. His vision is poor in this form, at least on land, but he takes in the layout of the building as best he can as he’s transported through the bleak hallways.

His heart pounds heavily in his ears as he’s brought back to the same room he was kept in for so long. He’s thrown into the tank, _his_ tank, and it starts to fill with water.

The water rises, and _he’s drowning. His human form can’t hold onto oxygen for long. His refusal to shift gets him nothing but water in his lungs and acid in his throat. He can’t hold out, and eventually, he gives them what they want—_

No. No longer. He’s in control; he can get out of here. He’ll get them both out.

Willing his heart to calm, he closes his eyes and lies still, not moving a muscle, and then he waits.

…

Muted voices break the long silence on the other side of the glass. He’s not moving. Is he sick? Is he even alive?

Eventually, the lock clicks and the top of the tank slides open. Subtle vibrations pulse through the water as a Hunter dives in.

The Hunter swims closer and closer, and then Shiro moves. He draws upon the strength of Neptune, and in a flash, he switches to his human form.

She’s caught off guard and doesn’t have a chance to fire the crossbow she holds, loaded with tranquilizer-laced arrows. He grabs her from behind, arms locked around her neck in a chokehold. She struggles, but he holds fast until she goes limp. He lets her sink, though he leaves her mask on—he’s not a monster, no matter what they might think.

Another Hunter dives in. Shiro kicks forward and uses his weight to smash him into the glass. The Hunter twists in his grip, but Shiro slams the back of his head into the glass, knocking him out. He sinks to the bottom.

Shiro grabs onto the rungs of the ladder, the one that taunted him for so long when he was trapped in his seal form. He pulls himself up and climbs out of the tank.

A third Hunter is gearing up, loading a needle with a soporific. Shiro runs at her, tackling her hard. She manages to jam the needle into his shoulder, but before she can inject it fully, he yanks her hand away and twists her arm behind her back. He slams her head into the ground, stunning her. He snatches her keys and throws her in the tank to join the others.

Someone will come for them eventually. He slides the top of the tank closed and locks it with a satisfying click.

He’s exhausted by the fight, hungry and tired from the partial dose of soporific that made its way into his bloodstream. He pushes past it. He needs to find his other half.

“Keith?” he calls. There’s no answer.

He stumbles through the halls, checking behind every door in the laboratory. Keith is nowhere to be found. He’s glad Keith isn’t being held here as a test subject, but if not here, then where is he?

He paces through the corridors, unsure of which area to try next. His feet bring him back to the cart overflowing with lilies.

The cart is in an annex, leading to another part of the building. A couple petals lie at the foot of the door. “Exhibition,” the sign reads, and it seems as good a place to look as any. The key grants him access.   

The halls here are wider and darker, with just a few emergency lights to see by. It’s after hours; nobody is meant to be here. The main hallway stretches out far into the darkness, lined with too many doors to count.

The subtle _clack clack clack_ of footsteps fills the hallway, and Shiro presses himself against the wall. The beam of a flashlight waves back and forth in a predictable pattern, and when the beam gets close, Shiro darts to the other side of the hall. It’s too quiet not to hear Shiro’s movement, but by the time the guard’s light finds him, Shiro’s already lunging for him.

He slams the guard into the wall, and the flashlight goes flying. He grabs his neck in the crook of his arm and squeezes until the guard loses consciousness, holding an extra five seconds for good measure.

The beam of the dropped flashlight illuminates a couple lily petals spilled outside one of the doors. Something tells Shiro he should go through that one.

The door takes him outside to an enclosed area, walled by glass under open sky. There’s a pool at the edge of the exhibit, its unnatural blue-green colour visible even by night. Concrete steps on the other side of the glass enclosure lead to a lower level, where prying eyes can look beneath the water’s surface. The white lilies are used to decorate the exhibit, lining the edges of the water.

A few lilies have strayed toward the centre of the pool. Upon closer inspection, it's apparent they’ve been purposefully arranged. Sixteen floating lilies mirror the faint stars of Pisces overhead.

“Shiro?”

Shiro’s heart catches in his throat. He’s waited so long to hear that voice. It’s been so long since he’s heard his own name.

Keith steps forward, pale skin gleaming by starlight. His eyes are large and full of wonder.

“Keith,” Shiro gasps. Keith runs the remaining few steps between them and Shiro catches him as he dives into his arms. They hold each other tightly, squeezing until it’s hard to breathe.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long,” Shiro murmurs into the crook of Keith’s neck. “I—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith says firmly before Shiro can apologize further. “You’re here now. Nothing else matters. Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

Keith grabs Shiro’s hand and they run to the door, the key Shiro swiped letting them out. They sprint hand in hand through the dark corridors until they find the exit, scaling the gate and running across the shore. The rocks are sharp against their bare feet, but it doesn’t slow them; nothing can.

They reach the spray of the ocean, and they make their escape.

They swim and they swim, getting as far away from the Hunters as they can. Eventually, when they’re too exhausted to go any further, they break the surface and take refuge in a cove, shifting forms.

“I knew you’d come for me,” Keith says, Shiro’s arms draped around his bare shoulders.

“You… did?” Shiro hadn’t been so sure himself.

“Yeah. I did,” Keith affirms. “We always manage to find each other.”

“Yeah,” Shiro murmurs. “I guess we do.”

“But still,” Keith says, “Let’s not get captured again.”

“No promises,” Shiro says with a wry smile.

Keith shoots him an annoyed look. Shiro laughs and presses his lips to the crinkle in his brow, smoothing it out. His nose bumps against Keith’s as he moves a few inches lower and kisses away the slight frown on his lips.

Keith’s hands sweep across Shiro’s ribs as he moves to pull him in closer. The frown returns, stronger now. “You haven’t been eating properly,” Keith says.

Shiro shrugs. “It’s fine.”  

“No, it’s not.” Keith makes to get up. “I’m gonna go catch you something right n—“

“Later,” Shiro interrupts, pulling him closer again. “You can help me hunt in the morning, alright? For now, just… stay. Please. I want you here with me.”

“...Okay,” Keith relents, though the determination in his jaw promises he’ll hold him to that when dawn breaks. Keith will make absolute certain he never goes hungry again.

Shiro traces his jawline, tender and loving, and Keith’s features soften.

Keith runs his hands over Shiro again, slower this time, fingers skimming the gooseflesh on his arms. “You’re cold.”

Shiro gives him a lopsided smile. “Warm me up?”

Keith lets out a soft snort, but he complies, nuzzling him gently. They touch and hold and kiss and taste, speaking silent I-love-yous under the night sky.

When they fall asleep, limbs entwined, they fit together just right. They have the sea and the stars and each other, and it’s all they’ll ever need.


	4. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith takes care of Shiro after he escapes from a Fire Nation prison, his arm irreparably burned. Hoping to take down the Fire Lord, they search for a new way for Shiro to bend the elements, confronting Shiro's fear of fire along the way.

“Did you really think you could revolt?” the warden sneers, staring down the crowd of prisoners in the yard. “Did you think your _Champion_ would lead you to safety?” The words drip with mockery and disdain.

A shudder races down Shiro’s spine. Despite her slight stature, the warden cuts a menacing figure. He doesn’t know what she has planned, but whatever it is, it won’t be good. Not when she’s gathered an audience.

The other prisoners at the Boiling Rock surround him, a sea of familiar faces. They’re too afraid to look away, but none will meet his gaze directly. He wishes they would. This isn’t their fault. Shiro had been the one to misjudge; they hadn’t been ready.

Many of the other prisoners were benders, able to bend fire or earth or water to their will. More still were trained in combat. But while they were physically strong, they hadn’t been mentally prepared to take on the army of firebenders guarding the Fire Nation prison. The other prisoners had given up within moments of the guards’ arrival. Shiro had not, which is how he’d ended up here: shackled tightly to the outer wall of the metal prison, arms splayed out from his sides, on display before an audience.

“No one escapes the Boiling Rock,” the warden reminds the prisoners, her voice griding like steel against slate. She turns to Shiro, giving him a long look. Her sharp nails dig into his jaw as she tilts his face toward her, forcing him to stare into her cold gaze. “And _no one_ gets away with insurgence against the Fire Nation.”

The humid air rising off the boiling lake surrounding the prison makes it hard to breathe; it’s harder still when Shiro’s choking back fear. She leers at him, wisps of white hair framing her gaunt face. Her smile is thin and wicked.

“You are a formidable firebender, Champion. You could have been a great asset to the Fire Nation,” she says. She releases her grip and brings her arms out in front of her. “It’s almost a shame to do this, but we must set an example.”

The warden twists her hands and a ball of flame comes to life between her spindly fingertips, so intense the flame burns blue. Her hands drag through the air in wide, circular motions, and the fireball grows and grows, getting hotter and hotter. With a flash of teeth, she takes aim at his right arm and—

Shiro wakes with a scream. A harsh cry tears out of his throat but he barely hears it, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. It beats so hard, so fast, his ribcage is ready to shatter. He can’t get enough air.

“H-hey. It’s—it’s okay,” a startled voice says from beside him. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” The words are stilted and unsure, but the attempt at soothing seems earnest. The voice doesn’t belong to anyone Shiro knows at the prison. No one there would be foolish or dishonest enough to assure him of safety.  

With bleary eyes, he follows the voice to the concerned face of a stranger. Anxiousness is written into his features, his bones riddled with tension. He watches over Shiro, stalwartly perched at his bedside. _Bedside._ Shiro’s in a _bed_ , softer than anything at the prison, tangled up in sweat-soaked sheets. And the _air_ , the air he draws into his heaving lungs is bone dry. It’s completely devoid of the acrid stench of sulphur.

This isn’t the Boiling Rock at all.

“W-where… where am I?” Shiro stutters.

“We’re in the outskirts of the Fire Nation Capital,” the boy answers, his voice carefully measured. “My name is Keith. This is my home.”

The room is spinning, but Shiro takes in his surroundings as best he can. There’s paint on the walls, off-white and peeling. The open window has no bars. The floor is wooden and uneven, a pile of books spilling out from under the boy’s chair. The place is small and run down, but it’s most definitely not a prison cell.

“You’re safe here,” Keith promises, and he sounds sincere. Even though he’s undoubtedly of Fire Nation heritage—his robes are dyed a deep crimson, his irises shine bright gold—something deep in Shiro’s gut tells him he can trust him.

“How—how did I get here?” Shiro asks shakily.

Keith wrinkles his brow. “I was actually going to ask you the same thing. I found you collapsed outside my doorstep two days ago.”

“Two… days?” Shiro echoes.

Keith nods. “Yeah. You’ve been out since then. I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up. You’ve had a really high fever. Your… your arm—“

—is missing.

The charred remnants of his arm have been amputated, the residual limb ending in heavy bandages. No wonder he’s in so much pain.

Shiro swallows. “Did you…”

“Yeah,” Keith says, eyes averted in discomfort. “It… It was bad. The healer couldn’t fix it, so we had to… I’m sorry.”

Shiro shakes his head and casts him a fragile smile. “You probably saved my life. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Keith pauses, unsure of how to respond. “…Well, it’s less work than getting rid of a dead body.”

A weak laugh escapes Shiro’s lips. “Next time I’m dying, I’ll try not to do it on your doorstep.”

Keith gives a soft snort. “Let’s focus on keeping you alive this time ‘round. How’re you feeling?”

Shiro’s head is swimming; he’s completely drained, weak as a baby moose-kitten; and what’s left of his right arm hurts so, so badly. “I’m fine.”

Keith narrows his eyes, not buying it. He leans forward, his wooden chair creaking beneath him. Cautious and slow, he presses the back of his hand to Shiro’s forehead.

Shiro barely suppresses a flinch, but Keith doesn’t hurt him. The feeling of skin against skin, it’s actually… nice. Shiro can’t remember the last time someone touched him so gently. It only lasts for a moment, and when Keith withdraws his hand, Shiro misses the touch immediately.

Keith winces. “Ugh. That’s not… How’re you actually feeling? Too hot? Too cold?”

“…Yes,” Shiro admits.

“Um.” Keith’s brow pinches. “Should I bring you a blanket? A damp cloth? I… I don’t know how to do this.”

Shiro gives him a reassuring smile. “You’ve kept me alive so far. I’d say you’re doing pretty well.”

Keith’s face relaxes a fraction. “I’ll get you something to drink,” he decides. “I’ll be right back.”  

It’s only a few paces to the tiny kitchen space, yet Shiro has to bite back the plea on his tongue not to leave. Maybe it’s the fever, or the arm, or the residual feelings from the nightmare, but he’s embarrassingly needy right now.

He breathes a sigh of relief when Keith returns a moment later, a cup in one hand and a bowl in the other. Keith balances the dishes on the chair seat as he helps Shiro to sit up.

“Here,” Keith says, placing the cup in Shiro’s left hand. Keith’s hand hovers over his trembling fingers, making sure he’s got it. He’s shaky but he manages. The water soothes the rawness in his parched throat.

“I also made some komodo chicken broth,” Keith says, swapping the empty cup for the bowl. “It’s nothing special, but…”

“It looks great,” Shiro assures Keith. He brings the bowl to his lips and takes a sip. It’s a bit bland, but he’s completely sincere when he tells him, “This is way better than anything I’ve had in…” Months? Years? It’s all a blur. “I don’t even know how long.”

“Yeah, I guess prison food probably isn’t great,” Keith says. “…I assumed from the uniform you were wearing when I found you,” he explains, catching Shiro’s raised eyebrows.

“You knew I was a prisoner, and you took me in anyway?” Shiro gives him a soft smile. “You really are kind.”

“I’m... really not.” Keith’s eyes are cast downward, his fingers tracing the misshapen carnations adorning the cheap ceramic cup.

“You took me in, got me a healer, helped with… _this,_ ” Shiro gestures at his amputated limb, “cleaned me up, made me soup, and sat by my bedside. And the only thing you knew about me was that I’d escaped from prison.”

Keith looks up. “I… guess I did.” He sounds surprised. “I don’t usually—Wait a minute. _Escaped?_ You weren’t released?”

Shiro’s mouth twists into a sheepish grimace. “Uh…”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Where from?”

“The Boiling Rock,” Shiro confesses.

Keith’s jaw drops. “You broke out of the Boiling Rock? I thought that place was inescapable!”

By all rights, it should be. The Boiling Rock is the Fire Nation’s maximum-security prison, situated on a volcanic island in the middle of a boiling lake. The entire structure is made of indestructible metal. It’s not accessible by foot or by boat, and the heat rising from the lake makes it so that even hot air crafts can’t fly over it. As if that weren’t enough, it’s guarded by an entire army of firebenders. It’s completely excessive. And yet…

“That’s incredible,” Keith utters. The tension Shiro is holding onto slips away as he realizes it’s not revulsion or fear in Keith’s voice, but _awe_.

“I honestly don’t know how I got out,” Shiro admits. “I can’t remember much. Everything’s pretty hazy.”

Scraps of memories cling to the corners of his scattered mind. There had to be someone on the inside. He remembers something about the Order of the White Lotus; a prison guard named Ulaz? Everything is foggy, though, and he can’t recall anything beyond that.

“Maybe you’ll remember better after your fever breaks,” Keith offers.

Somehow, Shiro doubts it. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“What’d you do to land you in the Boiling Rock in the first place?” Keith asks. He’s more curious than judgemental, and an explanation is the least Shiro can give him after all he’s done for him.

“I met a professor and his son in Ba Sing Se. They were from the university there, and they wanted to do research in the Fire Nation. I needed to go there too, so we travelled there together,” Shiro recounts. “They’re pretty, ah, inquisitive people, and the Fire Nation has a lot of technology the other nations don’t have. When they caught sight of some military tech, they wanted to get a closer look. They just wanted to see how it worked, but a pair of Fire Nation guards caught them and accused them of being spies. They arrested them. I tried to intervene, and, well…”

Shiro absently traces the scar across his nose where the guard’s whip had struck. His skin burns hot under his fingertips.

Keith winces. “So you’re Earth Kingdom, then?”

It’s a fair assumption—Ba Sing Se is the capital of the Earth Kingdom—but Shiro shakes his head. “No. I’m—I was an airbender. I’m originally from the Eastern Air Temple.”

Keith’s eyes widen, and his face falls. The reaction is answer enough, but Shiro has to ask. “I heard rumours while I was in prison. Of genocide.” The word is slippery on his tongue, and he can’t bear to speak it in anything above a whisper. “Are they true?”

Keith looks down, his eyes shining. He nods once. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Shiro’s pulse was already racing and his breaths already too short from the pathogen that had crept under his broken skin, but now his heart and lungs are set to collapse.

The other Air Nomads were all slaughtered at the hands of the Fire Nation. His entire nation is gone. Shiro is the last Air Nomad surviving.

It’s not like he wasn’t expecting it to be true, but still the confirmation chokes him. Before he knows what he’s doing, he reaches for Keith’s hand, clinging tightly as tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

After a few moments, Shiro’s brain catches up and he realizes how awkward this must be for Keith. “Sorry,” Shiro gasps, loosening his grip, but Keith shakes his head and keeps his hand where it is.

A silence stretches out between them, until eventually, Keith asks, “So, uh, can I ask what an Air Nomad was doing here in the Fire Nation?” Few outsiders visit the Fire Nation, and the Air Nomads in particular keep— _kept_ to themselves.

Shiro takes a long look at Keith, tracing over the angle of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the cut of his cheekbones. He’s a stranger, but he doesn’t feel like a stranger at all. He feels like someone Shiro can trust. He tells him the truth. “I was looking for a teacher to help me master firebending.”

“Firebending? But you’re an air—“ Keith cuts off abruptly, his golden eyes going saucer-wide as understanding dawns on him. There’s only one person in the world who can control more than one element. “You’re Avatar Shiro?” he breathes.

“Yeah. …At least, I was,” Shiro says, looking down at his missing arm.

It’s the Avatar’s duty to master all four elemental bending arts in order to keep balance among the four respective nations. At least, that’s how it was meant to be. The world is down to three nations, now; Shiro wasn’t able to stop the Fire Nation from wiping out the Air Nomads, and the art of airbending has consequently been lost. He was supposed to put an end to Fire Lord Zarkon’s conquest, but he can’t bend at all anymore. Without both arms, Shiro can’t summon wind, or manipulate water, or call forth flame, or shake the earth.

Shiro’s head swims, guilt and grief and despondence swirling through his fever-addled brain.

“You still are,” Keith insists, giving Shiro’s remaining hand a squeeze. “Hey. You’ve gotta be tired. Think you can get back to sleep?”

Shiro is tired; he’s exhausted in ever way. Still, he’s reluctant to sleep. He doesn’t want to dream.

“I’ll be right here if you need me,” Keith says, and somehow, the calm offering is enough. Something about having Keith at his bedside makes Shiro feel safe.

Shiro nods. “Okay. Thanks, Keith,” he murmurs, lying back down and curling up in the damp sheets.

Needy and desperate and uninhibited by the fever, he tugs at Keith’s hand and brings the back of it to rest against his flushed cheek. He glances upward, and the gentle smile on Keith’s lips reassures him that this is okay.

With a soft sigh, Shiro closes his eyes and falls asleep.

…

Shiro spends the next several days in a state of hazy semiconsciousness. Keith takes care of him the whole time.

Keith isn’t particularly talkative, but Shiro learns bits about him here and there during his more lucid moments.

Keith is a firebender, and it shows. His eyes positively light up when he talks about bending; it’s one of the few things he really loves. He usually reads about firebending techniques while he’s watching over Shiro, that or firebending history.

Keith is also a self-taught swordsman. He owns a blade forged from a meteorite, a white lotus insignia engraved on the hilt. He doesn’t know what it signifies, but it’s the only connection he has to his past.

Keith grew up on his own for the most part. He doesn’t have any family left, and he doesn’t have many friends either. His only real friend is a shirshu, a large animal with an incredible sense of smell, whom he calls Red. With Red, Keith can track down just about anything or anyone. It’s how he gets by day-to-day, receiving coins and basic necessities in exchange for finding lost items or, occasionally, people.

Having been alone for most of his life, Keith’s not used to taking care of other people. Still, there’s earnestness in his desire to help, and there’s warmth and kindness belying his brusque exterior.

Despite Keith’s insistence that he doesn’t relate well to others, he always seems to know exactly what Shiro needs, whether that’s gentleness or honesty or silence. He reads him as if he’s known him for years.

Shiro’s almost disappointed when his fever breaks.

“Where are you gonna go?” Keith asks.

“I don’t know,” Shiro admits. “My original plan isn’t really an option anymore.”

He can’t master the elements now that his arm is gone. There’s no one to go home to either, not after the genocide. He has no money; he doesn’t even own the clothes on his back. He’s not even sure he can tie the sash of the borrowed robes on his own—Keith’s helped him with just about everything, even though he’s never had to ask.

Keith’s mouth opens, and then he pauses. He considers for a moment, and then he tries again. “You know," he says slowly, “I’ve heard of a waterbending master in the Northern Water Tribe who was born without arms. If you found her, maybe she could help you relearn how to waterbend. And if you wanted… I could come with you.”

Shiro’s heart leaps. Maybe it’s not a lost cause after all. And that last part… “You’d really come with me to the North Pole?”

Keith nods. “Fire Lord Zarkon needs to be stopped, and I think if anyone can take him down, it’s you. You’re the Avatar, bending or no. And I dunno, even if you weren’t, I feel like people would still follow you.”

 “I don’t know about that,” Shiro utters. The prisoners at the Boiling Rock had quickly changed their minds.

“Well, I barely know you, but here I am, offering to follow you to the end of the Earth.” Keith says it almost like a question, but he doesn’t take it back.

A broad smile breaks across Shiro’s face. He hasn’t been this excited about anything in a long time. “To the end of the Earth it is, then.”

Keith returns the smile, soft and earnest, his golden eyes bright as the sun.

…

They make their way north on the back of Keith’s shirshu. Still recovering, Shiro’s grateful for the lift, though he can’t help but feel uneasy around the creature. She’s _huge_ , armed with large claws and sharp, sharp teeth. She doesn’t have eyes, but she hunts down prey using a burst of tentacle-like rays at the end of her snout. She has a whip-like tongue several metres long, and her saliva is apparently paralytic. In short, Red is terrifying. Still, she’s loyal to Keith, obedient and even playful around him. Keith’s affectionate with her, too, and watching them interact fills Shiro with warmth.

Shiro’s always been an explorer at heart, and he enjoys seeing what the Fire Nation has to offer. He takes in the local customs and culture with eager eyes as they travel through villages that get smaller and smaller as they go.

The settlements taper out, and eventually, they reach uninhabited land. It’s been ages since Shiro’s been in the wilderness, and he fully relishes the way it overwhelms his senses.

The first night they spend camping under the stars, though, is harder than either of them expects. Keith sparks a flame to light the kindling for a campfire, and Shiro _panics._

The stars and the trees and the mountains disappear. There’s nothing around Shiro but metal, steam, and sulphur. The warden’s eyes gleam from beneath her dark cloak, her hood casting shadows over the rest of her sharp features. _“Did you really think your_ Champion _would lead you to safety?”_ There’s fire at her fingertips, and then his arm burns and burns and burns…

A voice tries to reach him over all the noise, insistent and fraught with worry. It’s too far from reach to make out the words, inaudible over the hammering of his heart, but it’s persistent, soothing, anchoring, and Shiro latches onto it. It slowly brings him back. He’s safe. He’s _safe._

By the time Shiro comes back to his surroundings, there is no fire. Shame boils in his gut. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

“Don’t be,” Keith insists. He places his hand over Shiro’s, letting go only after Shiro’s breathing returns to normal.

The night air is cold, the sun taking all its warmth with it when it dipped below the horizon. They turn in for the night, but Shiro can’t sleep. He shivers as he lies awake, hugging his arm in tightly in a feeble attempt to warm himself.

Keith rolls over to face him. “You cold?” he asks.

“I’m f-fine,” Shiro says. Keith fixes him with a flat stare, calling him out without words. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

Keith inches closer and closer until his body is pressed up against Shiro’s. “This okay?”

More than okay. “Much better,” Shiro murmurs.

They rely on body heat for warmth every night after that. Neither of them complains about the lack of fire.

…

They reach a small port town at the edge of the continent and say goodbye to Red. Keith tells Shiro she’ll come find him when he returns. (Find _us_ when _we_ return, Shiro corrects internally, hoping it’s not just wishful thinking.) Red will be fine on her own until then; she was wild to begin with. Keith befriended her a few years ago, after finding her trapped by poachers. He rescued her and took care of her wounds, earning her trust. Shiro laughs—the story sounds familiar. Keith’s got a habit of taking in strays.

They survey the docks, looking for a way to get across the ocean. There are no ferries or ships meant for travel; few civilians venture outside the Fire Nation. There are a few civilian-owned fishing boats and pleasure crafts, but even if Keith and Shiro could somehow afford one, none of them look like they would survive a trip to the North Pole. The rest of the boats in the harbour are Fire Nation naval ships. They’ll have to find another way.

“Wait right here,” Keith says, putting a hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“Hm? What—“

Keith is running toward a massive Fire Nation battle cruiser before Shiro can stop him.

Shiro watches in stunned silence as Keith rushes in and attacks the guards head on, facing them with ease. He’s a phenomenal fighter, his every movement carried out with power and grace, his blade an extension of his body.

By the time Shiro can bring his feet to move, Keith has already taken out the guards on the docks and has moved onto fighting the naval officers onboard the ship. Shiro follows him.

Shiro may not have his bending, but he still knows how to fight. He’s not used to fighting without his right arm, and it takes a little while to adapt, but Shiro’s always been a fast learner. He still has his left arm and both legs, and he makes good use of his surroundings—walls, railings, stairs, anything with range. He takes the officers out before they can attack him, his technique steadily improving with each one he takes down.

Shiro’s fine with hand to hand combat, but he’s not ready for when the naval commander comes at him with fire, aiming a blazing fireball straight at him. Shiro freezes in place, every muscle locking up. He’s saved only when Keith dives in front of him, blocking the blast with his own firebending.

Paralyzed with fear, Shiro can only watch as Keith trades blows with the commander, fire against fire. Flames spew from their hands, stray blasts heating the steel walls of the ship in a molten glow. There is heat and fire _everywhere_.

The commander is powerful, but Keith is fast, and he gets a shot in that burns the entirety of the commander’s left arm. Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, but he can still hear it, smell it. He curls in on himself and tries not to be sick.

By the time Shiro can breathe again, it’s over. He looks up and Keith is tossing the last officer over the side of the ship with surprising strength.

Keith returns to his side. “Thanks,” Keith says abruptly, not giving Shiro a chance to apologize. “For letting me take care of that. That commander guy—Sendak, or something? He came to me a couple years ago, demanding I hunt down the Avatar. The bastard tried to take Red from me when I said no. So thanks for giving me a chance to settle the score.”

It’s a kind way of framing the situation, and Shiro’s grateful for it. It gives him an out, and he takes it. “Is… is that why you chose this ship?” he asks weakly. “The most heavily guarded one in the harbour?”

Keith just smirks, radiating smug satisfaction. His eyes are bright and he looks so _alive_ , the exhilaration of the fight pulsing through his veins.

Shiro shakes his head in disbelief. Commandeering a Fire Nation naval ship is _not_ the way he had envisioned crossing the ocean.

“You okay?” Keith asks, expression softening. His hand comes to find Shiro’s shoulder.

“…Yeah. I think so.”

“Good,” Keith says with a brief squeeze, and that’s that. He gestures at the massive steam-powered warship below their feet. “You know how to steer one of these things?”

“Not a clue,” Shiro says with a faint smile.

“Guess we’ll just have to figure it out,” Keith grins, reaching for Shiro’s hand and tugging him toward the cockpit.

…

They never do find the waterbending master they’d originally set out to find.

They do, however, find two people trapped in an iceberg. When they free them from their ice prison, they discover Shiro’s not the last Air Nomad after all.

Allura and Coran are originally from the Northern Air Temple. Coran’s story is a bit convoluted, but it seems they were frozen long before Shiro was born, trapped in ice while trying to save a small herd of sky bison.

They’re not the people Shiro grew up with, but they’re Air Nomads. More than that, they’re both _airbenders._

Allura and Coran’s way of airbending is divergent from anything Shiro knows, their knowledge and training belonging to a different generation. Masters in their own right, they’re able to offer wisdom and insights into bending that have long been lost.

“The body is just an extension of the mind,” Coran explains. “Having both hands is helpful for bending, certainly. But with enough mental focus, it’s possible to bend with just one hand, or even none at all.”

“Forget your previous training,” Allura advises Shiro. “Airbending without both hands is a different art altogether. It is difficult,” she concedes, “but not impossible.”

To punctuate her point, Allura holds her right arm behind her back, and with the barest flick of her left wrist, a light gust of wind brushes through their bangs. The airbending move is small, but it leaves Keith and Shiro starry-eyed, hearts filled with hope once more.

…

Under Coran and Allura’s guidance, and adopting the mantra _‘patience yields focus,’_ Shiro slowly, slowly, slowly learns how to bend air to his will without the use of his right arm. Keith is there to support him every step of the way.

As they travel, they find the five sky bison Allura and Coran had been trying to save, also preserved in ice. Travel is far less restricted on the backs of the sky bison compared with the battle cruiser. While Shiro works on relearning airbending, they travel around the world, helping people along the way.

They pick up more companions as they go. They find Lance, a waterbender from the Southern Water Tribe who’s looking for adventure, eager to prove himself. They find Hunk, an earthbender from a small village in the Earth Kingdom, who wants to put an end to the oppression Earth Kingdom citizens face by Fire Nation colonies. They also find Pidge, an earthbender from Ba Sing Se who’s learned to manipulate not just earth but _metal_. She’s looking for her family.

Their new companions haven’t mastered their elements, not yet, but they offer Shiro what advice they can, and Shiro applies what he’s learned about airbending with his mind over his body to the other bending arts.

With the help of his new friends, Allura and Coran’s guidance, Keith’s unconditional faith in him, and a _lot_ of patience and focus, Shiro begins to manipulate water and move the earth once again.

…

As Shiro and the others grow stronger, dismantling Fire Lord Zarkon’s reign becomes less of a distant dream and more of an actual, attainable goal. There’s much to be done, though, before that can happen. The group temporarily splits up to gather allies: they’ll need as much help as they can get in taking on the Fire Nation. Keith and Shiro head to the Northern Water Tribe together.

Finally alone on their journey north, Shiro musters up the courage to ask Keith for help with what he hadn’t wanted any of the others to see: his paralyzing pyrophobia. Shiro will have to get over his fear, or at least get it down to a manageable level, if he ever plans on facing the Fire Lord. Keith knows that just as well as Shiro, and though he’d never say it, it’s clear Keith has missed firebending, having suppressed it for Shiro’s sake for so long.

Keith agrees to provide controlled exposure in small doses, so long as Shiro promises to let him know if it gets to be too much. It’s a solid plan.

It’s a complete disaster. As it turns out, Keith isn’t so good at doing things in small doses, unused to holding back, and Shiro isn’t so good at communicating his distress.

The attempt leaves Shiro a wreck. Still, Keith is there to support his shaking, sobbing mess of a companion. It’s okay, it’s okay; Shiro’s going to be okay. Keith will always be there to keep him safe. _Always._

When Shiro finds his voice again, he asks to try again the next day.

It’s not easy, but over time, Shiro is able to watch Keith summon fire in his palm with nothing more than a skipped heartbeat. He barely flinches when Keith brings it close enough to his skin to feel its heat.

They start to build campfires at night for warmth. They continue their habit of sleeping pressed up against one another, though—just in case.

…

Eventually, Keith and Shiro reach the North Pole, home of the Northern Water Tribe. The tiered city glitters white, hewn from giant cliffs of ice. The harbour is filled with ships, billowing sails flapping in the wind. Tiger-seals lie by the water’s edge, soaking up what sun they can get. Canals meander through the city, waterbending gondoliers taking them where they need to go.

The royal palace is stunning, surrounded by waterfalls, its multiple tiers gleaming in the pale sunlight. Shiro is greeted with an equally grand reception: the Northern Water Tribe is honoured to have the Avatar in their midst.

They are less hospitable toward Keith, his Fire Nation heritage reflected in pale skin and golden eyes. Still, at Shiro’s insistence, Keith is allowed to stay, and they are both given rooms at the palace before their formal audience with the Chief the next day.

It’s the first night Shiro and Keith have spent apart in a long time, and it’s quiet, so very quiet. The room is cold and sparsely decorated, and it reminds Shiro of _the_ _cooler_ : a frigid cell at the Boiling Rock that prisoners would be locked in as punishment. It dredges up unbidden memories of painful shivering and blue lips and frozen tears caught in lashes.

Shiro finds sleep eventually, but it doesn’t last long. He jolts awake in the middle of the night, hands shaking, heart racing. He tries to breathe, breathe, _breathe_ , but he can’t calm himself down.

 _Keith._ He wants Keith. Without a second thought, Shiro slips out of his room and pads across the hall.

He cracks the door open only to find Keith’s bed is empty, sheets and blanket in disarray on the floor. Shiro’s gripped by a different flavour of panic entirely.

Maybe Keith just stepped out to get a drink of water or relieve himself. But no, his meteorite blade is still here, peeking out from under the thin pillow. Keith brings his blade with him everywhere; he’d never leave it behind. He had to have been taken. But _where_?

Shiro leans out the open window, the full moon bright overhead. There’s some sort of movement off in the distance by the canal, and without hesitation, Shiro jumps out the window. He bends the air beneath him to slow his descent just enough to not shatter his ankles, and then he runs as fast as his legs will carry him.

A gondola takes off, heading north. Spotting another gondola nearby, Shiro jumps in and races after it as fast as he can, bending the water beneath him to pull the vessel forward.

Shiro’s waterbending is still shaky, even strengthened by the full moon, and he can’t catch up. Still, he’s able to tail it for long enough to see where they dock.

Several figures pile out of the gondola, two of them carrying something about the size and shape of a person. They disappear into an ice cavern beneath the city. Shiro follows them inside.

The moonlight doesn’t travel past the entrance, and he’s soon ensconced in darkness. Voices reverberate in the tunnels. Shiro stops relying on his eyes and lets his ears guide him instead.

The voices lead him to an open area beneath the royal palace. The light of the resplendent building seeps through the icy ceiling, granting him just enough to see by.

He counts six cloaked figures. They surround a seventh person curled up on the ground. _Keith._

There’s no earth for Shiro to bend here, but he still has water and air and plenty of fury. “Get away from him,” he snarls in warning. When they don’t step away, he launches forward and strikes.

With targeted blasts of air, he throws them across the cavern, away from Keith. He slams them into the walls with another gust of wind, making sure their attention is on him.

The attackers are all waterbenders, and they come after Shiro with water whips and shards of ice. The full moon puts even more power behind their onslaught, but Shiro manages to use that against them.

He takes advantage of the poor lighting and their aggressive, uncoordinated attacks, positioning himself such that when he dodges, they end up hitting each other. The technique is in keeping with traditional airbending principles, more about ducking and evading than direct attacks. It’s also just _incredibly_ satisfying to watch them knock each other out.

When only one is left standing, Shiro sneaks up and moves in. With a well-aimed kick and a swift left hook, Shiro takes him out with ease.

After encasing the waterbenders’ hands in crude chunks of ice to prevent any surprise attacks, he immediately sprints to Keith’s side.

“Sh-Sh-Shiro?” Keith gasps through chattering teeth. Violent tremors wrack his body head to toe. He’s soaking wet, drenched in freezing water.

“I’m here,” Shiro says gently. Channelling the moon, he uses his bending to draw the dripping water away from Keith’s pallid skin, pulling it from his hair and the fabric of his clothes.

 Shiro wraps his arm around Keith as soon as he’s dry, and Keith clings to him, his grip tight and desperate. His temperature is far too low. It’ll take too long for them to get back to the city to warm up.

“Can you use your firebending to warm yourself up?” Shiro asks, trying to keep his voice level.

Keith pulls away and tries to draw a flame, but it sputters and dies, his hands shaking hard. “T-too c-cold. Can’t st-st-start it.”

“Okay,” Shiro murmurs. He closes his eyes. “Let me try.”

He takes a deep breath, and then he pours all his concentration into the element he’s hidden from for so long.

He centres himself as he draws upon his energy, and _patience yields focus._ He channels the ire he holds for Keith’s captors, shaping it into something he can hold. He brings to mind warmth and the sun and strength and vitality; he brings to mind everything that reminds him of Keith.

A spark forms between Shiro’s left fingers. His bones jump and his heart stutters, and with his concentration broken, it dissipates. He tries again.

He tries once, twice, three times more, until finally, finally, a tiny flame flickers in Shiro’s left palm. It wavers, but it persists. It’s enough.

Keith takes the little flame from him and builds it into something brighter, hotter. He sends it outward to form a ring. It encircles them, but Shiro’s too focused on Keith to feel trapped.

The flames dance around them until Keith’s shivering subsides.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks after the flames have died down.

“Thanks to you.” Keith’s voice is weak, but his eyes crinkle with pride. “You did it. You firebended.” His lips quirk up. “I shoulda gotten myself kidnapped earlier.”

Shiro gives him a light shove for that. “I was so worried. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah.” Keith puts his hand over Shiro’s. “Thanks for coming. Wasn’t sure you’d find me.”

Shiro shifts their fingers to interlock. “Keith, I couldn’t stay away if I tried.”

…

Keith has always been about the bigger picture, and Shiro sees that selflessness in him again when Keith urges them to go ahead with the alliance. He’s willing to look past what happened; taking down the Fire Lord is what’s most important. Keith tells the Northern Water Tribe Chief he understands where his captors were coming from—his people have done terrible things—and more than that, he knows the extremists aren’t representative of everyone in the nation.

Keith and Shiro leave the North Pole with the full support of the Northern Water Tribe.

They make their way back to the Fire Nation, where they’re set to meet up with the others. The journey back is uneventful—which, for them, is remarkable in its own right.

Red is there to greet them when they land, and she tackles Keith to the ground in her excitement. She gives Shiro a soft nudge, thanking him for taking care of her human.

They find an open field nearby, where Keith helps Shiro with his firebending. It comes more easily under the Fire Nation’s hot sun. They train well into the afternoon, training until they’re both too exhausted to move. They lie down in the field, curled up amidst the fire lilies in full bloom.

“The others aren’t scheduled to be here ‘til tomorrow,” Shiro says. “What should we do until then?”

Keith absently traces the petals of a fire lily, running his fingertips around the edges. “Well, the Fire Lily Festival is on. They have it in the Fire Nation every year. Wanna check it out?”

“Fire lilies,” Shiro muses. He recalls a book he owned when he was younger, an encyclopedia of flowers. “Those are a symbol of passion, right?”

Keith ducks his head, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Do you wanna go or not?”

 Shiro smiles. “I do,” he assures him. “It sounds like fun. And besides, I’d like to see more of the good parts of Fire Nation culture.”

Keith takes it as a challenge, his eyes sparking. “I’ll show you everything.”

…

Keith and Shiro make the most of their evening. Keith leads Shiro from stall to stall, sifting through all kinds of crafts and trinkets. They fill up on dumplings and noodles and mochi and fire flakes, gorging themselves until they can’t eat another bite.

There are festival games, which they get far too competitive about, playing until the sun has set. They walk away only after they’ve won the biggest prizes, matching plush tiger-seals tucked under their arms.

Grabbing Shiro’s hand, Keith leads him to the highest rooftop in the village to watch the fireworks. Meticulously timed bursts of colour fill the sky, explosions of light and sound falling all around them.

Keith holds onto Shiro protectively when, at the height of the evening, every other firebender present simultaneously throws fire into the sky, the flames amalgamating to form an enormous dragon. With Keith at his side, Shiro is able to remain centred enough to enjoy the impressive display, heart racing with excitement more than fear.

And at the end of the night, the faint stars of twin fish twinkling overhead, Keith hands Shiro a fire lily, a shy smile on his lips. Shiro returns the gesture, and it speaks all the words they’ve never needed to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got totally carried away with this one. I kind of want to explore this AU further!


	5. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Galra rebel breaks Shiro out of prison, asking for his help in shutting down a weapon that threatens the lives of the entire planet Princess Allura rests on. Shiro's Altean heritage will allow him to destroy the crystal that powers it, but not without a cost.

“What do you want?” Shiro snarls, pushing himself to his feet. He takes a fighting stance, his teeth bared. He’s a far cry from the Altean diplomat he used to be, but that life is long gone. These quintents, the only thing on his mind is survival.

Unintimidated, the Galra officer at the door steps inside Shiro’s cell. Unlike most of Shiro’s captors, this one’s armed with nothing but a knife, and he’s come alone. _Big mistake._ Shiro may not be able to put up as much of a fight as usual so soon after that last match, but he’ll resist with every bit of strength he has left. They should know by now not to underestimate him.

Shiro readies himself, but before he can make a move, the Galra drops his knife, sending it clattering to the floor, and raises his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. It catches Shiro off guard. The Galra are usually upfront about their intention to harm—revel in it, even. Still, this could be another of Honerva’s— _Haggar’s—_ tricks.

“I’m here to ask for your help,” the officer continues, and it’s _definitely_ a trick. The Galra don’t ask, and they certainly don’t ask for help.

“Even if I did believe you, what makes you think I would _ever_ want to help you?” Shiro growls.

“Because we’re on the same side, and Princess Allura is in danger.”

Shiro blinks. He wasn’t prepared for that answer. He shouldn’t believe the Galra, it’s a _trap_ … but what if he really is telling the truth? Despite himself, Shiro’s hostility begins to dissolve, leaving worry in its wake.

“My name is Keith,” the Galra continues. “I’m part of a resistance movement. We may be Galra, but we don’t stand with Zarkon. We call ourselves the Blade of Marmora, and we’re trying to take the Empire down from the inside. After… after what he did to Altea…” He trails off, and he really does sound remorseful. His fluffy, pointed ears flatten against the dark fur atop his head. His golden eyes are soft and sad.

It could still be an act. “What do you know about the Princess?” Shiro asks, keeping his tone cool.

“I know Alfor put her in a cryopod and hid her away before Zarkon could get to her. I know she’s the key to finding the other Voltron Lions. And I know Zarkon’s found her, and he’ll destroy her and the entire planet she’s on if you don’t help me,” Keith says, gravity in every word. “Zarkon’s already got the Black Lion, and he’s got half his fleets searching for the others. It’s only a matter of time before he finds them. We’re gonna need the Princess’s help if we want any chance of finding them first.”

Shiro narrows his eyes, considering. What could he gain from lying about this?

“Listen. I know you don’t have much reason to trust me, but if Zarkon gets a hold of Voltron, the entire universe is in danger. And really, it’s not like you’ve got much left to lose.”

He’s not wrong. This day-to-day existence isn’t a life at all, and even if he did manage to escape, there would be nothing to go back to. Everything and everyone Shiro ever loved was destroyed by the Galra while he was imprisoned. If Allura really is alive, she’s all he has left. “How, exactly, would a prisoner like me be of use to you?” he asks, cautiously.

“You’re Altean, and if the lab tests are correct, you’ve got royal blood in you. The quintessence weapon Zarkon plans to use is powered by a Class S Balmera crystal. He’s going to destroy the entire planet with it. You’re the only one who can possibly shut it down.”

He’s done his research. Shiro’s bloodline does allow him to manipulate Balmera crystals. He’s only distantly related to the royal family, though, and a Class S crystal…? He won’t be able to shut it down, but he might be able to overload it.

It’s not a decision to make lightly, but if there’s even a chance Keith is telling the truth, the choice is obvious. He’ll do whatever it takes to save Allura and the planet she’s on, and to make sure Voltron doesn’t fall into Zarkon’s hands.

“If you can get me there, I’ll do it,” Shiro says. He extends his hand. Keith takes it, gripping his forearm in a gesture of solidarity.

Keith’s ears perk up. “Someone’s coming,” he says, kicking his knife up from the floor and grabbing the hilt in a fluid, practiced motion.

“Do you have a plan for getting me out of—”

Shiro’s cut off abruptly as the back of his head is slammed into the metal wall. He sees stars.

“I lost a lot of money thanks to you, _Champion_ ,” Keith snarls. Clawed hands wrap around Shiro’s throat, restricting his air. He’s on the wiry side for a Galra, but he’s surprisingly strong. Shiro couldn’t get out of his chokehold if he tried.

Two sentries stand in the doorway. “No one is meant to be in here,” one of them says to Keith. “Identify the reason for your presence.”

“The _Champion_ cost me a fortune this afternoon,” Keith growls, pressing harder against Shiro’s throat. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“He is to be escorted to Haggar’s laboratory immediately.” One of the sentries holds a taser in its hand; the other has a gun and a set of manacles. Standard protocol.

“Fine,” Keith says. He yanks Shiro forward, spinning him around and restraining his arms. “Come cuff him.”

The cell door slides shut as the sentries come forward, and Keith strikes. Releasing Shiro, he disarms the first sentry, kicking the taser out of its grip, sending the awful weapon skittering across the floor to the far corner of his cell. The second sentry swings at him. He ducks and, in the process, swipes its gun from its side. Spinning around, he shoots the first in the chest, sending it crashing to the floor in a shower of sparks.

He dodges again as the remaining sentry takes another swing at him. Lightning-quick, he dives between its legs, getting in behind it. He plants some sort of small electronic device on the back of the sentry’s head. It glows green, and the sentry immediately begins to malfunction, its movements rendered repetitive and useless.

It shuts down in under a dobosh and collapses to the ground. Keith drags it to the opposite side of the cell, positioning it such that it faces the other damaged sentry. He places the gun in its arms.

Keith removes the device from its head, holding it up. “Messes with its programming. It’ll make it look like there was just a malfunction in its coding,” he explains, before pocketing it. He gestures to the door. “Ready?”

Shiro nods silently, still stunned by the ease with which Keith took them out. He’s incredibly skilled for someone so young—he can’t be more than 250 years old.

Keith grabs his hand and leads him out of the cell. “Careful,” he warns, voice hushed. “There’re sentries on patrol. They follow a predictable pattern, though, so we’ll be fine if you just follow my lead.”

Shiro knows; he’d worked out the pattern himself. He’s escaped from his cell into the halls more than once, hence the taser protocol. Still, he doesn’t say anything. It’s preposterous—maybe he sustained a concussion, maybe he’s just touch-starved—but he relishes the feeling of Keith’s warm hand over his. Irrational as it is, he’s content to let Keith lead him through the halls.

Their steps are quick and quiet, forward and back again as they duck behind walls. It’s like a dance, set to the neat, rhythmic footsteps of sentries.

They reach an intersection, and Keith gestures down the hallway on their left. “Pods are that way. If you want to back out, now’s your chance.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “You’d really let me go?” he asks, disbelief tinging his voice.

“I’ve been watching you for a while, Champion,” Keith says. “I’ve seen the way you show your opponents mercy. I’ve seen you stand up for other prisoners. I know you won’t run; not when the lives of other people are at stake.”

“You’ve been taking notes,” Shiro says, wryly. “You’re not wrong. I won’t back out. But please, call me Shiro.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, testing out the syllables. It’s the first time Shiro’s heard anyone say his name in a decafeeb, and it hits him with a warmth he’d long forgotten.

“In here, Shiro,” Keith says, slowing down as they approach a door. He presses his palm to the scanner and the door slides open. He pulls Shiro inside.

They’re in a storage room, filled with equipment. Silver and glowing fuchsia line the place in the shape of armour and weapons.

“There are gonna be more officers past this point,” Keith explains. “Not just sentries. We won’t be able to just duck behind corners and hide. But you can shapeshift, right?”

Shiro nods, eyeing the gear around them. “Right.”

As Keith assembles a uniform for him, Shiro turns his attention inward. It’s been ages since he’s shapeshifted, and it takes considerable focus. He concentrates on lilac blossoming over his skin, on his bones and muscles stretching out to match Galra proportions. There isn’t much he can do about his forearms or hands, not when one of them is made of metal, but hopefully no one will notice. He sharpens his teeth into points.

“Here,” Keith says, bringing him a set of armour, including some gloves to help hide his lack of claws.

Shiro thanks him as he dons the armour, tweaking his form as necessary to fill it out. He slides the helmet on, and luckily, it reaches low enough to cover the scar across the bridge of his nose. “How’s this? Passable?”

“Your face is still the same,” Keith points out.

“It’s _purple.”_

“Yeah, but apart from that. You’re the Champion; people might recognize you.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow from beneath his helmet. “I seriously doubt most people are looking at my face when they’re watching me fight.”

Curiously, Keith’s lavender cheeks flush with pink.

“I can’t imagine anyone would recognize me outside of a prison uniform without a weapon in hand,” Shiro says, “especially with different proportions and a different skin tone. Not to mention only the bottom of my face is exposed. There’s no way they would recognize me from just my lips and jawline.”

Honestly, Shiro’s just too exhausted to concentrate on changing his appearance more than he has to. He’s battered and worn out from his last fight, and shifting his bone and muscle structure is neither easy nor comfortable. Not to mention he’ll need to conserve all the energy he can if he’s going to overload a Class S crystal.

Keith considers for a moment. “Yeah, I guess they wouldn’t,” he agrees. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

The prison uniform is uncomfortably tight under his armour, stretched as far as it’ll go to accommodate his Galra form, and he’s not exactly thrilled about the insignia branded across his chestplate that declares loyalty to Zarkon. Still, at least on the outside, he’s not dressed as a prisoner anymore. Standing tall in more than one way, Shiro walks out of the room at Keith’s side. They make a beeline for the weapon.

Their trek is interrupted when they run into a group of Galra—or part-Galra, anyway. They have some Galra-typical features, but they don’t look like any officers he’s seen before.

One of the officers has a black cat-like creature on her shoulder. The animal is unnervingly familiar, though Shiro can’t recall where he would have seen it before. It seems to stare straight through him, and his heart races against his will.

Keith bumps his arm ever so slightly. It doesn’t slow his heart any, but it does ease his nerves a little.

“Keith?” A lithe Galra with smooth, scarlet skin cocks her head to the side, eyebrows raised. Her lips curve upward into a smirk. “Wow, I’ve never seen you walk with _anyone_ before. Did you actually make a _friend_?”

Keith shoots her an annoyed glare.

“Who’s the new guy?” another asks, her voice gruff. She towers over the rest of them. “Pretty sure I haven’t seen him around this part of the ship before.”

“Uh…”

“Takashi,” Shiro offers, before Keith’s apparent inability to lie on the spot gets them both in trouble. “I was just transferred here. I was previously on Kruocedra.” It’s not a lie; that was the planet he was on before he was captured.

“Kruocedra? Ughhh,” the scarlet Galra says, making a face. “I hate that place. Those guys are all stiffs. And not just ‘cause they’re made outta crystal.”

“Tell me about it,” Shiro says. He’s not a fan either. Back on Altea, when they’d gotten word that the Galra might be staging an attack, Shiro had volunteered to go to Kruocedra as an emissary to request their help in defending Altea. Kruocedra, rich in resources and home to a formidable race of warriors, had been a longstanding ally of Altea. But by the time had Shiro arrived at the glittering planet, things had changed. They’d already sided with the Galra, and they’d taken Shiro captive, handing him over to Zarkon as an offering.

“You seemed like you were in a hurry,” the palest officer says in a calm, stoic voice. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere important,” Keith says.

“You know, Keith, you’re so private, it’s almost like you’re _hiding something_ ,” the red one says. Her smile is dangerous.

“If you must know, we’re going to the mess hall, okay?” Keith says. “I just wanna get there before they run out of klorbon.”

“Oh!” The tall one’s furry ears perk up. “I forgot it was klorbon day! We should go too, before it’s all gone!”

The four officers walk alongside them, and Keith gives Shiro an almost imperceptible nod. They don’t have a choice. They head to the mess hall in a forced detour.

The décor of the mess hall is just as dark and gloomy as the rest of the ship, but a delightful aroma wafts through the air, making it feel ten times cozier. A few Galra are scattered throughout the dining hall, eating and chatting. After all Shiro’s been through, it’s refreshingly mundane.

Keith passes Shiro a tray as they line up. “What’ll it be?” a large Galra wearing an apron and headband asks, gruffly, from behind the counter.

“Just the klorbon,” Keith says.

The chef unenthusiastically piles a stack of round, flat cakes on a plate and hands it to Keith. They sparkle and shimmer, as if made of gold.

Shiro eyes the other options behind the glass. On the left, pairs of limp, long-dead fish-like creatures are speared on sticks; on the right are lumpy, greyish balls of… something.

“Well?” the chef says, impatiently.

“I’ll have the klorbon as well, please,” Shiro says.

The chef furrows his brow. _“’Please?’_ Ha. _Manners_ aren’t gonna get you any extra,” he scoffs, piling the same number of golden cakes onto Shiro’s plate.

The tall officer snorts from behind them. “Good try, though.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Keith mutters to Shiro.

“Ohh, and now Keith actually deigns to eat with someone?” the red one says as they start to leave together. “And a new recruit, too. How interesting…”

“I know Takashi from before, okay?” Keith snaps. “We’re catching up. Now butt out.”

Keith guides Shiro out of the mess hall, leading him to the farthest table in the dining hall.

Finally out of earshot of the others, Shiro asks, “So who’re they?”

“No one you want to mess with,” Keith says. “They’re dangerous. We should be careful around them.”

“So I take it they’re not friends of yours,” Shiro says.

Keith snorts. “I don’t have friends.”

“None?”

“No,” Keith confirms. Shiro’s pity must show, because Keith says, “It’s _fine_. Stop making that face.”

“You can’t even see half of it.”

“I can see enough,” Keith retorts.

Shiro shrugs and stabs a piece of glittering klorbon with his fork. It’s been ages since he’s been given actual _utensils_ to eat with. He takes a bite, and… _Oh._ He can’t help the sound of pleasure that escapes his mouth.

Keith watches him, amusement playing on his lips. “That good, huh?”

_“Yes,”_ Shiro sighs, shoveling another piece into his mouth. It’s sweet and fluffy, a slice of heaven after the prison slop he’s been eating for the past decafeeb.

“Here,” Keith says, reaching over and piling half of his stack on top of Shiro’s. The amount of food on Shiro’s plate now borders unreasonable, but it’s been at least a quintent since he last ate.

“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro grins, delighted.

“You’re gonna have to work on curbing those manners if you’re gonna fit in around here,” Keith smirks.

Shiro smiles, though a twinge of sadness hits him as he remembers that he won’t have a chance to. He pushes the pang down, burying it in klorbon.

“You should probably slow down before you choke,” Keith says, watching Shiro inhale his plate. “We have time, you know. They won’t be able to activate the weapon for a while yet; it’s still charging. We probably shouldn’t leave too soon, either, not when _they’re_ suspicious,” he says, eyeing the four officers from before, who have taken a seat at the other side of the room.

“Alteans don’t choke,” Shiro says, but he does ease up on the pace, if only to make this last a little longer. If there’s time, he’ll take it.

Shiro holds up a piece of klorbon on the end of his fork. “These remind me of these sweet cakes Allura’s nanny used to make for us every few spicolian movements,” he tells Keith. “They were bright orange and a bit smaller, but they tasted pretty similar. On special occasions, we’d have them with teralily nectar. They were Allura’s favourite.”

Keith’s face is unreadable. “You’re pretty close with the Princess, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s my cousin. A distant cousin, but still. We grew up together. There weren’t a whole lot of people our age in the royal court, and we worked together on diplomatic affairs as we got older, too. So, yeah, we were pretty close.”

“Hm,” Keith nods. “We’ll save her.” His voice is resolute.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. When he’d first learned of Alfor’s plan to put Allura in a cryopod if things went badly with the Galra, he’d tried to talk him out of it, knowing Allura would never want that. He’s glad now that the King had gone ahead with it anyway, but still, it’s going to be hard on her when she wakes up. Shiro wishes he could be there.

He changes the subject. “So, Keith. You know a bit about me, but I know next to nothing about you.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Keith shrugs. “My mom died when I was pretty young. Never knew my dad. Like I said, I don’t really have any friends. I’ve just sort of drifted from place to place my whole life. I’ve been stationed here about a decafeeb. Guess Arus is next.”

“Arus?”

“That’s the planet Princess Allura is on,” Keith explains. “It’s where the Black Lion would’ve been kept, too, if it hadn’t gone back to Zarkon first.”

Right. Alfor had planned to keep the Black Lion in the Castle when he’d talked about splitting them up. “The Black Lion went to Zarkon willingly?”

Keith nods. “Guess it was more loyal to Zarkon than King Alfor. But it stopped responding to Zarkon not long after. About a decafeeb ago, just after I got here. It hasn’t lowered its shield since.”

Interesting. Had the Black Lion chosen a new paladin? “Keith, has the Black Lion ever… talked to you?”

Keith frowns. “I… I don’t know. It’s never really tried to communicate with me, I don’t think. But I can kind of… sense it?”

Shiro’s not entirely sure what that means; he’s not nearly as well versed in the mechanics of Voltron and the Lions as Allura is. “Make sure to bring that up with Allura when you find her,” he says.

Keith narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but he closes it before any words get out. He tries again. “Yeah. Sure.”

Shiro pops the last piece of klorbon into his mouth. “Well, as much as I’d like seconds, I’m guessing that chef guy isn’t exactly the type to give them out. Guess we should get going.”

Keith nods. “This way.” He leads him out of the mess hall, and they continue toward the weapon.

They walk for ages, hallway after hallway after hallway. Shiro’s never seen Zarkon’s ship from the outside, but it must be _massive._ It’s pretty unbelievable that everyone just walks everywhere, but the Galra have always favoured tradition over R &D.

After over a varga of walking, they reach a high-security door with a biometric lock. “We don’t have clearance to be past this point,” Keith says, in a hushed voice. He pulls a small chip out from under a clawed nail, carefully inserting it into a slot by the scanner. “Only the higher ranks are allowed past here. We’re gonna have to be careful.”

Shiro nods. “I’m surprised you’re not of higher rank,” he says. High enough not to require a helmet as part of his uniform, but apparently not much higher than that. Keith is young and he hasn’t been here long, but he can fight, and that’s all that seems to matter in the Galra Empire.

Keith gives him a grim smile. “I’ve been able to do what I need to from my current position. I don’t need to draw attention to myself. …That and climbing the ranks means challenging the person currently in that position to a fight to the death, and I’d rather not kill any more people than I have to.”

“I get that,” Shiro says, all too empathetic. “I should thank you, you know. For getting me out of the arena.”

“It wasn’t out of kindness,” Keith admits. “It was part of my mission.”

“Still. I appreciate it all the same.”

“I—” Keith freezes, his ears perking up. “Someone’s coming,” he hisses. He grabs Shiro’s hand and pulls him inside the nearest door.

The room is some sort of laboratory. The sharp scent of preservatives and antiseptics smacks Shiro like a tidal wave, knocking the air from his lungs. Panic continues to rise in his gut as his eyes dart around the dimly lit room, jumping from specimen to specimen. Eyeless, segmented, eight-legged creatures are frozen in ice. Large, ichthyic carcasses are laid out for dissection on the tables. An odd creature with flippers and a tail stares at him from behind the glass of a tank with haunted eyes.

Shiro shudders, his skin crawling. He jumps at the hand on his shoulder.

“Shiro? You with me?” Keith whispers.

Shiro uses Keith’s touch, his voice, as something to hold onto. There’s something intrinsically disturbing about this place, but it’s different from Honerva’s— _Haggar’s_ lab. There’s no reason to be afraid. Shiro nods.

“Good. It sounds like they’re coming in. Do you trust me?”

He does. Inexplicably, inconceivably, inexorably, he does. “Should I not?”

“Probably not,” Keith shrugs. “You just met me. But still, it’s in your best interest to play along.”

“What—”

Keith shoves Shiro against the wall and kisses him, pressing his lips hard against his.

The scarlet half-Galra officer from before pauses in the doorway. Keith continues, deliberately ignoring her, prying Shiro’s mouth open and deepening the kiss.

Shiro’s heart stutters, and his residual fear melts into something else. As soon as he processes what’s happening, he kisses back, just as hard. He wants this. Needs this.

“Huh,” the officer smirks. “Awful long distance to travel just to make out in a creepy lab. I’m not kink-shaming or anything, but…”

Keith pulls back. “Awful long distance to follow me for just to pry into my personal life,” he growls, hands planted possessively on Shiro’s hips. “Now you know. Now will you leave us _alone_?”

She flashes a grin. She walks over to one of the shelves and grabs some sort of tool, something sharp and menacing that Shiro absolutely does not want to know what it’s for. “Consider my curiosity satisfied.”

As soon as she makes to leave, Keith kisses Shiro again, picking up where they left off, almost aggressively loud. He kisses him until she’s out of the room and the door slides shut behind her.

Keith lets out a sigh of relief, pulling away. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says. His warm-blooded cheeks are flushed. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

“I liked that excuse better than the first time you pushed me against the wall,” Shiro says. “And no need to apologize. I, uh, actually didn’t mind it.” Not at all.

Keith’s lips quirk up. “I’ll take that into consideration if we run into anyone else.” Shiro almost hopes that they do.

But they don’t. The weapon room isn’t all that far, and they’re there in an uneventful half varga.

Keith unlocks the door, inserting the tiny chip from under his nail again. They step inside, and it’s _huge_. A crystal larger than Shiro’s ever seen before takes up the entirety of the room. It’s sturdily mounted onto a base, which is presumably attached to the weapon. There’s no way of removing it—if they could even reach it; the base is several storeys below the catwalk they’re standing on.

It’s massive, but it’s still a Balmeran crystal. Shiro’s worked with those before. He can do this.

“Okay,” Shiro says. “I’ll take it from here. Now I need you to get as far away from here as possible.”

“What? Why?”

“The blast radius will clear at least five kiloplaxels,” Shiro explains.

_“Blast radius?”_

Shiro gives him a slight smile. “I can’t shut a crystal of this size down, but I can trigger a chain reaction that’ll overload it. It’ll destroy the weapon, and take out a good portion of Zarkon’s ship, too.”

Keith’s eyes are wide. “How long does the reaction take? Will there be time for you to get away?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’ll have a few doboshes at most.” Definitely not enough time, even if he were left with enough energy to run. Shiro places a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for getting me here, Keith. I’m glad I met you. Take care of Allura for me.”

“Shiro…”

“Help her find the other Lions, alright? See if you can connect with the Black Lion. Maybe it’ll respond to you.”

“I will. I promise,” Keith whispers. “Anything else?”

“There is one more thing,” Shiro says. Emboldened, he pulls Keith toward him for one last kiss.

Keith returns it readily. He removes Shiro’s helmet, and Shiro lets his Galra form fall away. A careful claw traces the curve of Shiro’s ear, his lips, the markings under his eyes.

Shiro smiles at him. “I wish we’d had more time,” he says. “I would’ve liked to get to know you better.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, his ears drooping. His sad eyes shine like liquid gold.

With his hands on Keith’s shoulders, Shiro says, “I’ll give you a varga to get as far away from here as possible, alright?”

Reluctantly, Keith nods.

“Be safe,” Shiro says.

Keith can’t quite meet his eyes. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “It’s been an honour.”

“Goodbye, Keith.”

Shiro keeps his eyes on Keith as his figure retreats, tracing every last detail until the door shuts behind him.

Alone with the crystal, Shiro starts counting down the doboshes.

He has no regrets. He has no doubt Keith will find Allura, and they’ll figure out a way to reassemble Voltron. The universe is in good hands.

A varga passes surprisingly quickly. When it’s time, Shiro reaches out and presses his hands to the smooth surface of the enormous crystal. Closing his eyes, he summons every drop of magic in his being and draws it toward his fingertips. He concentrates on triggering the reaction they’d always been taught to avoid.

It’s been ages since he’s used magic, and it’s even more draining than he remembers. It takes considerable effort, but he pushes forward. He doesn’t stop, not even when he collapses face-first onto the catwalk. Inching his fingers forward until they meet the crystalline surface again, he pours his energy into it until there’s nothing left.

Finally, a brilliant flash of white light fills the room. The newly lit crystal begins to emit a low, pulsating hum. He did it.

The temperature rises steadily, heat radiating from the crystal’s core. It’s soon overbearing, far hotter than should be comfortable, and yet something about the warmth is almost nostalgic.

The throbbing hum gets louder in a steady crescendo, rising in pitch and volume. The time in between pulses gets shorter and shorter, until it reaches a constant screech.

_It’s time._

Shiro had expected his last thoughts to be of his home, his friends, his family. Instead, his mind drifts toward the Galra he met just vargas ago. He thinks of sharp claws and a sharper tongue; warm eyes and a warmer heart. “Maybe in another life,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

Everything goes dark. He feels strangely weightless, like he’s in freefall.

And then the pain hits.

It’s not at all what he was expecting. The pain is dull and familiar; less like searing heat and devastating pressure tearing his body apart, more like a… face plant? What—

The sound of the explosion is ear-splitting. The light is painfully bright, even behind closed eyelids. Half a tick later, it’s over. It’s silent and dark. And he’s still here.

Shiro blinks his eyes open. Dim violet floods his vision. He’s still in his cell. It was just a vivid dream.

He blinks a few more times, though, and his vision clears. This isn’t his cell. This isn’t any place on Zarkon’s ship. This is—

A roar resounds through the floor, filling the cockpit.

_The Black Lion._

He glances up from where he lies on the floor. There’s someone in the pilot’s seat, eyes on the screen and hands at the controls. “…Keith?”

Keith’s eyes flicker from the display to meet Shiro’s. He gives him a soft smile. “Hey there.”

Shiro’s eyes are wide in disbelief. “How…”

“Turns out the Black Lion can phase through matter,” Keith says. “Pretty cool, right?”

“You—you took the Black Lion out right from under Zarkon’s nose?” Shiro asks, weakly.

“I made a promise, didn’t I?”

“Didn’t expect it would be so soon,” Shiro admits.

“I’m not known for my patience. I wanted to see you again,” Keith says. “And so did the Black Lion. She wanted to help me save you.” A resounding purr echoes agreement.

Shiro gives him a faint smile. “Well, the feeling’s mutual. You know, Keith,” he admits, “just a moment ago, of all the things I could’ve thought of? My last thought was that I wanted a second date with you.”

“I’d like that,” Keith says. “Though it’s gonna be hard to top this—a prison break, a last minute save from certain death, _and_ klorbon cakes?”

A blue planet swirled with white clouds comes into view on the Black Lion’s display. The Castle of Lions is just ahead. “Just you wait,” Shiro says; a jest and a promise. “We’ve got a lifetime ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was by far the hardest to write, but IT'S DONE. I'm sorry it veered so far from the original, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it! 
> 
> The final chapter will be more of an epilogue. :)


	6. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every night is a new story.

Every night is a new story.

Shiro and Keith are florists, baristas, musicians, thieves; they meet in parks and laundromats and bookstores and on battlefields. The context changes, the relationship changes, but they find love every single time.

The dreams are so much better than his usual nightmares; Shiro finds himself actually looking forward to sleep. He keeps them quiet, carefully guarded, but he treasures each one. His mind wanders back to them over and over.

All it takes is a moment for him to slip.

With a rare lull in their never-ending fight, the paladins hit the training deck and go back to their roots. They sit in a tight circle, sinking deep into a mind-melding exercise. They focus on the Lions, on Voltron, on their shared connection.

And then Keith’s hand brushes against Shiro’s.

Shiro’s heart judders and his concentration lapses. In just a split-second, his carefully constructed mental walls break down, and every life he’s ever dreamed about comes pouring out, flooding the mind link.

He tries in vain to rein them back in, but it’s too late; he’s trying to hold smoke. Like a scarf trick, the dreams pull all his tangled emotions out with them—the longing, the anticipation, the constant desire.

The others see _everything._

Shiro yanks off his headset, blood thrumming in his ears, stomach churning with abject mortification. In the corner of his eye, he can see the other paladins staring at him, gaping. Keith has gone utterly still beside him.

“Okay. Good training session, everyone. Dismissed,” he says, faintly, as he gets to his feet. Absolutely _not_ making eye contact with Keith, he walks out of the room.

He can’t tell if his heart is racing at a million beats per minute or if it’s stopped entirely. He’s barely aware of his surroundings, barely aware of what he’s doing or where he’s going.

His feet bring him to the star deck. He takes a seat and draws his legs to his chest. Staring out at the starscape beyond, he tries to think of how he can possibly explain this to Keith.

He hasn’t thought of a single thing by the time familiar footsteps announce Keith’s presence. Of course Keith finds him. He always does.

Keith takes a seat in the small gap between Shiro and the window, his back to the stars. He’s so close their knees are just shy of touching. He won’t be ignored. “So.”

Shiro swallows, his mouth gone dry.

“I liked the bakery one,” Keith says, a slight smirk hanging on his lips.

Shiro ducks his head and winces, blood rushing from his heart to his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Just let him die, already.

“Keith, I… I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says, hoping in vain the ground will swallow him whole. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, and I know this might put you in an awkward position. Can we just… can we just pretend this never happened? I don’t want this to change things between us.”

“I don’t think so. It already has,” Keith says. His violet eyes are intense. “Shiro, are you in love with me?”

Direct and to the point, as always. Shiro can’t lie or evade; there’s no room for half-truths. “Yes,” he whispers.

He’s not prepared for Keith’s response. He’s not prepared for when Keith leans forward and wraps his arms around him, warm and insistent. “I’m so glad.” His voice is soft, his smile softer.

“…What?”

“You heard me,” Keith says. “I love you too, Shiro. I have for years.”

“You… have?” Shiro asks, incredulous.

“Shiro,” Keith sighs, his voice impossibly fond. “I’ve loved you in every lifetime. Why would this one be any different?”

In quiet disbelief, Shiro smiles into his shoulder, sinking into his embrace.

“You know, I’ve been having some of the same dreams over the past few months,” Keith says.

“They must’ve been leaking through the mind link with Voltron. Or maybe the Black Lion,” Shiro hazards.

“Maybe,” Keith shrugs. “Maybe it’s something more.”

“You believe in that kind of thing?” Shiro asks, despite himself. “Reincarnation? Destiny? A future written in the stars?”

“I dunno,” Keith says. “But I believe in you and me, here and now.” He reaches for Shiro’s hand, interlacing their fingers together. His hand is rough and warm and familiar. It feels like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

“Do you?” Keith asks.

“Do I what?”

“Believe we could be together,” Keith says. “Do you believe me, when I tell you I love you? Because I _know_ you, Shiro. You’re as stubborn as I am, and once you have an idea in your head, it’s not easy to convince you otherwise, no matter how unreasonable that idea might be. So tell me. Do I love you?”

It’s something Shiro hadn’t dared to hope for. He’s still not sure this is really happening. But Keith says he does, and Shiro trusts him with everything he has. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Yes, you love me.”

“Now say it like you mean it.”

Shiro laughs. “You love me.”

“Again.”

Shiro shakes his head with an affectionate smile. “How many times are you gonna make me say it?”

“As many times as it takes to clear any doubt from your mind,” Keith says. He presses a kiss to Shiro’s lips: an affirmation, a guarantee, the start of something new and old. “I love you, Shiro. Don’t ever forget.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! Huge thanks again to Ardett, for letting me remix such an incredible story. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing any sort of AU - I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments and feedback are super appreciated. :)
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com/) \- I post my art here. Come say hi!


End file.
